


The Mistakes We've Made

by emavee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) fix-it of sorts, Found Family, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, Hydra (Marvel), Parent-child relationships, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Relationships, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, but i want to love her so..., i have some mixed feelings about wanda, some torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-06-18 06:26:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15479592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: Wanda hung her head. “I don’t… No one’s coming to rescue me, Peter, and you know what? I think I deserve that. I don’t deserve to be rescued after what I did.”“No, Wanda! That’s not true! You deserve a second chance. You deserve to figure this out! Make amends! Don’t—”He didn’t get the chance to finish before he was torn away again.or: When Peter wakes up in a Hydra cell, he figures all he has to do is keep his identity a secret, not tell them what they want to know, and wait for someone to realize he's missing. But he's not the only one there, and it doesn't take long for Hydra to realize they've lucked into something much, much bigger.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter woke up slowly. It felt like he’s swimming through jello, trying to reach consciousness. He was having a hard time lifting his eyelids, much less his head from where it hung against his chest.

 

That thought startled him. He wasn’t lying down, this wasn’t him trying to get up for school after regretfully patrolling way too late. This was something else. Exhaustion and fatigue smothered him, and confusion and fear dulled his awareness.

 

This was the hardest he’d ever had to fight to wake up, and every part of him whispered for him to just let his eyes close, fall back asleep. He tried to shift—maybe to get more comfortable, maybe to try and drag himself out of this—but was met by resistance and sharp pain in his wrists.

 

He tried to blink away some of the haze to look at the source: shiny handcuffs securing him to a cold metal chair.

 

Panic helping snap him awake, he kicked his legs forward, feeling similar bonds on his ankles.

 

With a groan, he managed to lift his head and look around. He was in a small room with dirty concrete walls and not much else, just another metal chair sitting empty in the corner. He was alone with the unbearable silence and the stench of mildew.

 

He thrashed in his restraints for a moment before remembering that panicking wasn’t his best option. He stopped, taking several deep, shaky breaths and letting his vision completely clear.

 

He was alone, for now, but who knew what was going to walk through the door at any moment. He needed to be prepared.

 

“Okay, Peter,” he muttered to himself. “Let’s figure this out. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

 

He was beginning to remember things. He’d been leaving the compound, last thing he remembered, headed to the car to meet Happy and make it home in time to surprise May with dinner. She’d been working a lot of late shifts the past few weeks and finally they were going to be able to spend some time together. His heart twisted a little painfully when he realized that wasn’t happening. And May wouldn’t even know. It was a surprise. May wouldn’t know he was missing.

 

He had to remind himself to breathe.

 

Slowly, he tested the cuffs and felt them strain beneath his strength. That was good. He could break them pretty easily, especially once whatever was coursing through his system—there had to be some pretty powerful sedative in his system in order to take him out and keep him that way—was gone. Even in his stupor, he could get out of this.

 

So he wasn’t here as Spider-Man. They didn’t want Spider-Man. So why was he here?

 

And where was here?

 

He wasn’t in the suit, he wasn’t wearing his webshooters, and his backpack was nowhere to be seen. Even if he broke out of his restraints, if he risked his identity, there was no guarantee that he could fight his way out of here.

 

He’d have to wait, at least until he figured out what was going on.

 

And he hated it. Every molecule in his body screamed at him to _get out, get out, get out._

 

With nothing around him but darkness and dirt, time seemed to drag on. He was simultaneously anxiously waiting for someone to walk in and get this thing started and dreading whatever was coming next. His stomach was a nauseous mess of anxiety and fear and his whole body felt twitchy. He bounced his leg nervously before realizing that the cuff on his ankle was rubbing his skin raw.

 

After an eternity of skin-crawling waiting, every hair on his body stood up on end as the door thumped heavily and creaked open.

 

Three black-clad figures slunk into the room, eyeing Peter with different expressions, none of which were good.

 

The first was a normal-looking guy, with round glasses, a hooked nose, and a clipboard. He stood casually, with a relaxation that didn’t belong in the dark cell. He looked at Peter with patience and curiosity, as if Peter were about to tell him some thrilling story.

 

Beside him was a short dark-haired woman who looked at Peter with a coldness that sent shivers up his spine. It took him a moment to realize that she looked familiar, then another moment for him to place her face. She hadn’t worn this evil expression then, but she’d been in a board meeting at SI last week. Peter had even talked to her. She’d been very interested in knowing what he did as a Stark intern. _Oh._

 

The third person stayed behind them, lurking, _waiting_ , in the shadows. He was built like a tank, and he was smiling at Peter dangerously, his arms folded over his chest, head cocked to the side, eyes glinting. He looked almost hungry and Peter almost forgot about the two other sinister figures, he was too busy trying to shrink back in the chair away from this man.

 

At least, until the familiar woman talked.

 

“Peter Parker.” She stepped towards him and his attention snapped back on her. On second look, he noticed a terrifying detail he’d missed in his initial nervous observation: the logo on her dark outfit was a skull with tentacles.

 

_Hydra._

 

_Shit._

 

“I remember you,” Peter said. “Helen Grant, right? I guess that’s not your real name, though.”

 

She smiled, her lips thin and pressed tight. “You’re very observant.”

 

“What can I say? I have a pretty good memory.”

 

She leaned forward until her hands rested on the arms of Peter’s chair, her face looming dangerously close as her eyes glinted with sinister happiness. “Good,” she said, “then you should be able to help us out.”

 

“Help you?” Peter meant it to sound tough, to insinuate that he’d never help them, but she took it as a serious question.

 

“Yes.” She stood up and nodded in the direction of the guy with the glasses. “As an intern, an intern with Level Ten access, you must know a lot about Stark technology. You’re going to tell my friend Dr. Lowell here all about it.”

 

“I don’t know anything,” Peter tried. “I just get coffee and file paperwork.”

 

The woman shook her head and frowned at him with disappointment. “I was in that meeting, Mr. Parker, scoping out the perfect candidate for our little mission—and you fit the bill perfectly! Smart, trusted, young, breakable… We couldn’t have asked for a better subject.”

 

Peter stared at her.

 

“Just answer Dr. Lowell’s questions and we won’t have any problems,” she said. Her smile never wavered.

 

“And then when that’s done? When I’ve answered all your stupid questions? You’re just gonna let me go?”

 

She shrugged. “Whatever happens at the end, well, I can guarantee it’ll be better that what’ll happen if you prove to be difficult.”

 

“I really don’t know anything,” he tried again. “Really.”

 

“Stark’s golden boy? He spoke very highly of you—made you out to be a real genius. I hope you’re smart enough to go ahead and work with us, or this is going to be very difficult for you. Actually, I don’t really care. Either way, we’ll get what we want. Now, I’ll leave you in my colleagues’ very capable hands.”

 

He watched as she left, desperate for any glimpse at what lay beyond his cell, but she slipped out without letting him see any more than a sliver of a dark hallway.

 

Dr. Lowell dragged over the other chair from the corner, the harsh sound making Peter wince. He settled himself directly in front of Peter and pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, poising to take notes on his clipboard.

 

“Right, Mr. Parker, what you tell me about the arc reactor? Could you replicate one yourself? With adequate time and supplies, of course.”

 

Peter didn’t respond. He kept his eyes locked with Lowell’s, his jaw set, his face contorted into what he hoped was an intimidating glare.

 

Lowell simply raised his eyebrows. “Not feeling talkative yet? I’ll try again. What do you know about the arc reactor?”

 

When Peter still didn’t answer, Lowell motioned for the agent lurking in the dark to approach them.

 

“Peter, this is Victor. Victor, why don’t you introduce yourself to Mr. Parker?”

 

Victor stepped forward and cracked his knuckles and Peter had to scoff. “What is this, a bad movie? You—”

 

A fist collided with his chin, snapping his head to the side. It was more surprising than painful—he’d dealt with worse from robbers and muggers. Peter rolled his jaw slowly and turned back to look at Victor, determined not to show a reaction. Victor just grinned.

 

The next three punches split his lip and left him feeling slightly dizzy. Victor stepped back, bringing Lowell back into view.

 

“Now, that was nothing, just a small taste of what we could do to you,” Lowell said darkly. “I hope you can see how serious we are.”

 

Peter spat out blood onto the dirty floor. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’m not telling you anything.”

 

Lowell sighed and nodded at Victor, who turned back to Peter with a sadistic grin.

 

He barely had time to feel scared before the foot collided with his ribs.


	2. Chapter 2

“You sure you don’t want any help cooking dinner?” Tony set down his work and watched as the kid packed up his backpack.

 

Peter paused and looked up at him with a frown. “You don’t know how to cook.”

 

Tony squawked in fake indignation. “Don’t assume terrible things about me, Parker.”

 

“I’m not assuming. I’ve eaten your cooking. That was the darkest night of my life.”

 

“So melodramatic. That chicken was only a little raw.”

 

“And burnt? Somehow? Mr. Stark, I love you, but you’re a worse cook than May.”

 

Peter didn’t even seem to notice what he’d said, but Tony’s chest clenched suddenly.

 

_Mr. Stark, I love you._

 

How did they get here? Hadn’t he tried to keep this kid at arm’s length?

 

It was that idiot kid’s fault, he decided, for sticking around when everyone else seemed to leave him, for trusting him when he let everyone down, for admiring him when he was everything someone like Peter should not want to be.

 

But damn if hearing Peter say that _he loves him_ , so casually, as if he doesn’t even have to think about it, doesn’t unlock some happiness within him that he didn’t know he had anymore.

 

He doesn’t really process anything else after that, since his brain has locked onto the _I love you_ and that wasn’t going away anytime soon.

 

He just waved back when Peter jogs out of the lab to meet Happy, shouting some muffled goodbye that Tony doesn’t hear over the sound of his own heart pounding.

 

He sits there for a while, no longer needing to hide his smile, which felt goofy even to him. But he couldn’t help it. The kid loved him.

 

So many mistakes had been weighing on him for months, years even: all the death and destruction the Avengers had caused, all the people his weapons had killed, not being forthright with the team, all the people he couldn’t save, not catching Rhodey in time, letting that bastard Zemo get in his head, taking the kid’s suit away and leaving him to almost die in his pajamas—a lot of mistakes. They replayed over and over in his head, scrolling along like the bottom ribbon of the news, no matter what he was doing, no matter how much he tried to rationalize them away. Tony Stark might as well be made of mistakes.

 

But for the first time, the mistakes weren’t screaming as loud. They didn’t consume him.

 

If Peter loved him… maybe he was doing something right for once in his life.

 

\--

 

It was 10:44 when he got the call. May Parker.

 

He answered casually, although seeing her name reminds him of the kid and he starts buzzing with happiness again. It was probably about dinner, or Peter’s grades, or something Peter mentioned happening on patrol that she wanted answers about.

 

“Hey, May. How was dinner?”

 

“Huh? Tony, do you know what time it is? Remind Peter that he was supposed to be home at 10:30 and then send him back here. He’s not answering his phone.”

 

Tony took a moment to process what she said before the smile dropped from his face and the blood turned to ice in his veins.

 

“Peter’s not here.” The words tumble out over each other.

 

“Oh,” May sighed with relief. “So, he left already. Okay. That’s fine. I know you guys get caught up in your work. I’ll talk to him about keeping a closer eye on—”

 

“No, he left at 5:30. He… he wanted to make you dinner.”

 

May was silent for a moment, and Tony only heard his own heartbeat.

 

“What do you mean?” Her voice was a whisper. “5:30? Tony, that was more than five hours ago.”

 

“I know.” His throat was dry, and he gagged on his own fear.

 

“Where is he?”

 

“I don’t know.” He was tracking Peter as they spoke. The suit was offline, so he tried his phone. Tony stared. “He’s here?”

 

“What do you mean? You said he left hours ago! Tony Stark—”

 

“I… I’m tracking his phone, and it’s here, at the compound. Right outside. May, I’ll call you back.”

 

He called Peter’s cell as he half-sprints towards its location. There’s no response, just Peter’s cheery voicemail inviting him to leave a message. He didn’t, though, because he was already there, staring at a sight he was completely unprepared for.

 

The car was running, driver-seat door thrown open, empty. Happy Hogan lay unconscious on the ground a few feet away.

 

Tony rushed towards him, relieved to find him breathing, but terrified of what had knocked him out in the first place. There was no sign of injury—he just looked like he was sleeping.

 

Drugs.

 

He spotted Peter’s backpack near the door, but no Peter.

 

“Happy.” He shook the larger man. “Happy!” Lightly, he slapped his face.

 

Happy groaned without opening his eyes. “Wha’s happ’nin?”

 

“Happy, man, you have to wake up. What happened?”

 

Happy opened one eye, then the other. “T’ny? Wha’s goin’ on? Where ‘m I?”

 

“Outside the compound.” He helped him sit up and lean against the side of the car.

 

“Huh? How’d I get there? What happened?” Happy's voice grew in strength as he regained consciousness, but he looked even more confused, and Tony needed him alert and in-control. They were losing valuable time.

 

“I was hoping you could tell me. Happy, where’s Peter?”

 

“Peter?” Happy squinted and looked around. His gaze finally fell on the discarded backpack and his face went slack. “Peter. Shit, Tony, they got Peter. I don’t even know how it happened—”

 

“Woah, slow down. Who? Who has Peter?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t, I don’t know. I was waiting for him, but when the door opened, it was some ninja woman. Pete was out—they, they must have drugged him. She, she had a knife to his throat and I couldn’t do anything, or they were gonna kill him.”

 

“They?”

 

“There were two others with her. One of them knocked me out. They said if I moved, if I called you, they’d kill him. I’m so sorry, Tony, I messed up.”

 

“It’s not your fault, Hap. You did the right thing. The kid’s probably alive, and I can work with that. I’ll find him.”

 

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Happy said miserably, as if Tony hadn’t even spoken. “I should have been smarter, I should have figured out some way, he’s just a kid. This was on me, and I failed.”

 

Tony stared at him. “Don’t say that,” he said. “We haven’t failed.”

 

_We can’t fail. I can’t let that happen._

 

\--

 

Tony’s eyes flitted between the screens as FRIDAY searched for any sign of Peter or the people that grabbed him. She’d been looking for close to ten minutes, and there was no sign of any of them.

 

Happy, once Tony was sure he was okay to drive, had been sent to pick up May from her apartment. They didn’t know what was going on, but there was no doubt that she’d be safer at the compound than sitting alone in her empty apartment. And Tony wouldn’t let himself be responsible for losing another Parker.

 

He’d been panicking since the moment May told him Peter never made it home, but as FRIDAY continued to search for any hint at the kid’s location, and coming up with absolutely nothing, he was beginning to cease functioning. That’s not what the kid needed; he needed Tony alert and smart and not blinded by stress and fear. Here he was, letting the kid down. Again.

 

He rubbed his face and sat down hard. “Anything, Fri?”

 

“I’m sorry, boss. Mr. Parker, as well as all three of the people involved in his kidnapping, are not showing up on any scanners. The car they drove also disappears as soon as they leave the property. I am out of ideas, but I do have to infer that we’re dealing with people who had highly advanced technology, as well as a very thorough plan to take Mr. Parker tonight.”

 

“I won’t accept that, Fri. Keep looking.”

 

“Of course, boss.” It sounded like pity in her voice, and that made his skin crawl.

 

Tony buried his face in his hands and waited for FRIDAY to miraculously announce that she’d found something.

 

Of course, she didn’t, because Tony Stark didn’t make miracles, just mistakes. 

 

He should have known. His happiness is always fleeting.

 

When FRIDAY’s voice finally did drag him out of his stupor, it wasn’t even about Peter. No, it was about someone he hadn’t wanted to think about ever again.

 

“Sir, Sam Wilson is outside, and he’s requesting to speak with you.”

 

_Great._

 

\--

 

Tony reluctantly left his post to meet the ex-Avenger. He stood in the doorway, not letting Sam in, but not turning him away either. He just waited.

 

“Tony,” Sam said. He shifted, like he wasn’t sure where to go with the conversation. Tony wasn’t even sure why they were having a conversation at all.

 

“Wilson. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call Ross right now and have your ass thrown back in jail.”

 

“I know you’re not heartless, Tony, and this isn’t about me. I wouldn’t be here if we weren’t desperate, but you have resources we don’t. We need your help.”

 

“We? Who’s we?” He leveled a skeptical glare at Sam, although inside his heart was pounding, terrified at the thought that Steve was here, too. He couldn’t deal with that right now. He had to find Peter, not worry about Steve and whether or not he was going to stab him in the back again.

 

Sam turned, and Tony followed his gaze, watching as Clint Barton stepped out of the shadows, his arms folded over his chest, dressed in tactical gear, and wearing an even darker glare than he had on the Raft.

 

“Where’s Wanda, Stark?”


	3. Chapter 3

Wanda sat quietly as they removed the straightjacket so she could eat. She knew better by now than to fight, to try and escape. The horrible metal shock collar around her neck was a gruesome reminder of what had happened that first night.

 

She’d thought she could make it, but the second she raised her hands, the collar filled her with horrible, unrelenting agony. She’d been careful after that—never wanting to feel that pain again. Anything was better than that, even Hydra captivity.

 

She never should have left Steve, Sam, and Nat. They’d told her to stay close, stay on-guard, stay safe, but she was _Scarlet Witch_ , she’d be fine. Except Hydra knew her. Hydra made her, and they wanted her back.

 

And Hydra always got what they wanted.

 

They’d been waiting for her, took her out before she could raise a hand to defend herself, and she woke up in this cold cell.

 

She tied to keep track of the days at first, but there was no natural light, and nothing to do but sleep or stare at the wall until she started imagining her friends' voices outside the door. All she knew was that she’d been here a while. Long enough for Steve, Sam, and Nat to notice she was missing, and long enough for her to give up hope that they’d be able to find her.

 

They weren’t torturing her, not physically, at least. They just kept her locked up. It was almost worse, waiting for the ball to drop. Whatever they were saving her for, it couldn’t be good. She shivered, thinking about the horrible things they could do to her, or make her do.

 

She ate silently and quickly, knowing that talking or wasting time sent the trigger-happy guards reaching for the remote that controlled her collar.

 

That was dinner. Maybe. She couldn’t actually be sure what time it was, but she felt endlessly drowsy in this cell, so sleep was her pastime.

 

At first, she’d dreamt of being rescued and going back to her life with Steve, Sam, and Nat, but as days went by, her dreams shifted. There was no civil war in her dreams. Steve, Clint, Sam, Nat, Vision, her. They spent their days at the compound happy, together. They trained and ate and it was always sunny.

 

That night she dreamt that they were picnicking on the lawn. They watched the sunset together, and it was the most beautiful thing Wanda had ever seen. Clint’s kids were there. They chased fireflies and laughed as light from Wanda’s fingers created dancing shapes in the night sky. Even in the darkness, there was so much light. She could see everyone she loved smiling by the light of the stars and the moon and the light of her own magic.

 

She was yanked from sleep by the unforgiving hands of her guards. When she startled and looked around groggily, they took the opportunity to give her a warning shock. That got her up, awkwardly pushing herself onto her knees, then her feet, wobbling with exhaustion, pain, and the inability to steady herself with her hands.

 

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, her voice rough with disuse, as they dragged her towards the cell door. Before she stepped into the hallway, a dark sack was shoved roughly over her head, and that was the only answer she got.

 

She was too disoriented to try and keep track of where they were taking her, so she just let herself be dragged along. They squeezed her shoulders painfully and walked at a pace slightly too fast for her numb, tired legs, but she stumbled along, not willing to risk another shock.

 

Eventually they must have reached their destination because she heard the sound of a heavy door opening before she was being shoved into a chair. As they secured her to the chair, she listened to the conversation around her.

 

“Fine, kid, you don’t want to talk? You think you’re so tough? Think Stark’ll be proud of you?” _Stark?_ “You should have just cooperated. We were always going to get answers. You just made this harder on yourself.”

 

The hood was torn from Wanda’s head and although this new cell was still dimly lit, she squinted from the sudden change in brightness. It took her a moment to take stock of her surroundings.

 

It wasn’t a cell like hers. This room was bigger and dirtier—an interrogation room, not a holding cell. Across from her, in a matching metal chair, slumped a teenage boy, who looked young enough to not have anything to do with Hydra. His pale skin was covered in welts and bruises. Blood trickled down his chin as he hung his head. His breathing was ragged and the way he was sitting told her that something was wrong with his ribs.

 

They mentioned Stark. What did this kid have to do with him? What had this kid gotten himself into? Was this Stark’s fault?

 

Why was she here?

 

The kid looked at her through swollen eyes and frowned. “Scarlet Witch?” he asked. He turned to look at one of the Hydra goons. “What is this?”

 

They ignored him and spoke to Wanda.

 

“Witch, this is your chance.”

 

“To do what?” she asked, horror in her voice. She’d known Hydra could and would do terrible things, but looking at the beaten, bloody kid in front of her, she felt sick.

 

“We need answers from him, and he’s not cooperating. Get them for us.”

 

“Why would I do that?” Wanda asked.

 

The guard shrugged. “Good behavior, and all that, for one. But also, because this boy is a pawn in Tony Stark’s game, and you have nothing but hatred for Stark.” The boy looked at her, a look of sadness and almost betrayal in his brown eyes. She shrank away from them. “Stark put you here, Wanda. He’s the reason you came to us in the first place, he’s the reason you’ve been on the run, and he’s the reason we were able to bring you back to us. He’s caused you nothing but pain. Look into this boy’s mind and get us our answers. Stark is letting this boy suffer for him, you can save him, and the only person you’d be hurting is Stark.”

 

She looked at the Hydra agent for a moment before nodding slowly.

 

“No!” the boy cried. “Stay out of my head!” He tossed and shrank away from her, but there was nowhere to go. He was trapped, just like her. If she could get him out of this and maybe get herself some better food or time out of the straightjacket, and the only cost would be to Tony Stark, then she had to do it. It was a miracle handed to her on a silver platter. And they were right; Wanda was here because of him, and this boy was dying for him. She could at least save this poor kid that managed to get tangled up in Stark’s business.

 

With a deep breath, the steadied herself and pushed out with her mind. The boy squirmed and yelled and turned his head away, but it didn’t matter.

 

“We’re looking for information on the projects Stark had him working on,” the agent said, and Wanda nodded.

 

He didn’t want her in his head, that much was obvious. He was a smart kid, Wanda realized, but nothing could stop her as she pried her way into his head, peeling his resolve open so she could browse his thoughts as if his mind was a file cabinet.

 

 _It’s for the best,_ she told herself. She was saving him.

 

Stark. That’s what she was looking for now, information on Stark. She barely had to even think of the man before she was overwhelmed by the flood of thoughts that accompanied him.

 

They were strong memories, colorful, hopeful, and not at all what Wanda would have expected to see. She was seeing Stark, just like she was supposed to, but she’d never seen him like this.

 

To Wanda, Tony Stark was narcissistic and stubborn. He drove people away like they were below him, and he refused to acknowledge different opinions. He thought he knew what was best for everyone and was blinded by his hubris.

 

Wanda wasn’t even sure that the person she was seeing in this kid’s memories was the same Tony Stark. He was nothing like the person she knew.

 

_The kid in a hotel room, staring in elation at a red and blue spandex suit._

_Stark offering him a place with the Avengers. He’s even got a room. The kid hasn’t felt this included or wanted in a while. There is confidence and self-assurance that he hasn’t had before._

The memories only grow stronger from there.

_“Mr. Stark!” The kid bounds into Stark’s private lab, grinning. He’s wearing the super suit that Stark gave him, mask in hand._

_Stark sets down what he’s working on and smiles back at him. “What’s up, kid?”_

_“You’ll never believe what happened today on patrol.”_

_“Try me.”_

_Stark’s eyes are attentive as Spider-Man tells him how he helped reunite a lost little girl with her family and she told him he was her favorite superhero and showed him her Spider-Man t-shirt._

_“I didn’t even know they made those, Mr. Stark! Did you know? It’s so weird! And her favorite superhero? That’s crazy! Isn’t it crazy?”_

_“Sure is crazy,” Stark says, but he smiles and his eyes crinkle. “Looks like you’re going to replace me as the world’s favorite superhero, huh?. At least I know that Iron Man is your favorite.”_

_He says it with a tinge of sarcasm, but the kid just smiles earnestly and says, “Of course, Mr. Stark.” He means it._

_“Peter.”_

_“Hey, Mr. Stark.” The kid was sitting in a graveyard, staring._

_“Do you want to be alone?”_

_The kid shook his head. Wanda could feel so much grief and guilt in him, but still, as much as he figured he probably deserved to be alone, he didn't want it. He was tired of being lonely, so, so tired. He couldn't fight his desire for solace._

_Stark sat down beside him in the dirt and put his arm around his shoulders. The touch radiated warmth and comfort, and Peter leaned into it._

_They sat in silence, but not loneliness._

_Stark, Peter, and Colonel Rhodes were eating ice cream sundaes in the compound common area. Peter was practically bouncing off the walls and deeply engaged in a conversation about some nerdy movie Wanda had never seen. Stark was also very into it, while Rhodes just laughed._

_Peter was happy. This felt like family._

_“It’s gonna be okay,” Stark said, squeezing the kid’s hand._

_A blurry-faced doctor was digging a bullet out of Peter’s shoulder, and Wanda could feel the pain that washed over him._

_Peter wanted to black out. The anesthesia didn’t work on him._

_But at least Stark was there. He could get through this._

_There was so much worry on Stark’s face._

 

She’d never seen Stark act like that.

 

The kid, Peter, he felt nothing but love for Stark, and although he couldn’t be sure, he felt that Stark loved him, too. When he thought of Stark, there was support and protection. He looked up to him as a hero and trusted him as if he was his father.

 

And above all, he felt hopeful. They were trapped in a secure Hydra facility with cuffs and drugs and shock collars and sadistic guards and Peter felt hope. He felt it so strongly, that when Wanda looked at him, she was overcome with the idea that Tony Stark would come to their rescue. His rescue. Peter was barely scared, because Tony Stark would always, _always_ be there to rescue him.

 

The agents looked at her expectantly, glaring as she took too long.

 

“Well?”

 

She’d been so sure that she’d do anything to keep them from hurting her again, but now she just felt confused. Seeing Tony Stark in that light had flipped everything she knew on its head, and she was at a loss, unsure of where she fit in for the first time in a long time.

 

What she did know, was that it felt wrong to tell Hydra what she saw. She certainly wouldn’t tell them about Spider-Man, but she also wouldn’t tell them about Stark’s tech. It was there, she could find it, but it felt wrong to share it.

 

For some reason, it felt wrong to betray Stark.

 

She looked the guard in the eye and shook her head. “No.”

 

Peter stared at her in surprise before a small smile appeared on his face.

 

“No?” the Hydra guy growled, getting in her face. Behind him, Peter met her eyes. Ever so slightly, he wiggled the cuffs on his wrists and nodded once.

 

“No,” Wanda repeated with a satisfied smirk.

 

The guard slapped her face, hard, but she didn’t care, because behind him, Peter was snapping his restraints and launching into a full-fledged assault against the numerous startled Hydra agents.

 

He was a good fighter, ducking on their counterattacks, and knocking out agents with a single punch. He could benefit from some training with Nat or Steve, or even Sam, but his agility, strength, and natural instinct worked well for him.

 

He was powerful, and for the first time in a while, Wanda thought she might actually get out of this awful place. He just needed to fight his way over to her and get her out of this collar so she could bring down the entire base and all the Hydra evil within it.

 

But he didn't. He couldn't. There were too many agents. Even as Peter fought, more agents flooded into the cell, and Peter’s energy was draining. He was strong, quick, and a fast healer, but he was still injured, and in-pain, and he couldn’t make a dent in Hydra’s endless stream of agents.

 

There were too many, and it didn’t take long for them to have him surrounded. Peter would yank an arm from their grip just for another hand to take its place. He was beginning to look panicked, but he continued to fight until one of the agents jammed a needle into his neck and the kid went down in a heap.

 

Wanda watched in horror as the agents circled him, looking down at him like he was a piece of meat. One directed a kick at his already-mangled ribcage and his face contorted in pain, even in his unconsciousness.

 

“Let him go,” Wanda said, “and I’ll tell you what I saw. I can explain Stark’s technology.”

 

Without even looking at her, one of the agents fished the remote from his pocket and filled her body with burning agony. She seized and cried, but the electricity never relented. It was still tearing through her when her vision faded mercifully to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are super appreciated <3


	4. Chapter 4

Wanda was supposed to be back by now.

 

Part of Sam wondered why they let her go off on her own anyways, but she was old enough to make her own decisions, even if they were on the run and dealing with the constant threat of capture.

 

But now she was almost a week late and they’d been holed up at the rendezvous point for way too long. Contact when she’d gone off on her own had been limited for their safety, but they hadn’t talked to her in five weeks, and she should at least let them know if she couldn’t make it to meet them on-time. They’d understand. They’d reschedule. They had to look out for each other.

 

Steve hadn’t wanted Wanda to leave in the first place, but Nat had supported her desire to do what she thought she had to do, and he’d agreed. After all, they’d been fighting for their freedom; what kind of people would they be if they turned around and told Wanda what she could and couldn’t do? They didn’t have any right to keep her trapped with them.

 

But now even Nat was nervous. The three of them had been laying low in the same grimy motel for six days, and Steve and Nat were both starting to go stir-crazy, since neither of them had actually left the room. Sam, the least recognizable of the bunch, had been tasked with getting supplies every couple of days, but none of them had expected to be there this long.

 

Adding the stress of being discovered and worry over Wanda’s well-being to their generally paranoia and restlessness had pushed all three of them to the edge. Except Natasha. She was well over the edge at this point. Sam figured this out the hard way when he drank one of the last Diet Cokes (not _the_ last one, mind you, but ONE of the last ones—there were still two left) and she threatened to “pour the rest of them in the mechanics of your stupid bird costume if you even look at the rest of the Coke, I swear to God, Sam Wilson.”

 

Then she sat on the edge of the bed, stared at the ground, and violently bounced her leg without saying anything for two hours and Steve decided it was time to talk.

 

“I’ve tried to call Wanda several times…” Steve started.

 

“We know,” Nat said. “We share a room, Rogers.”

 

“So, we still have no idea where she is?” Sam asked him, ignoring Natasha.

 

“Something’s wrong,” Natasha said. “She’s young, but she’s not irresponsible. Something’s happened to her.”

 

“I agree,” Steve said.

 

“If the UN task force managed to bring in Scarlet Witch,” Sam said, “it would be all over the news by now. At least we can rule that possibility out.”

 

“But that’s what worries me,” Steve said. “What else could have happened to her?”

 

“I’ve been trying to triangulate her location for the past forty-six hours,” Nat said. “No luck. I’m good, but all I’ve got is this busted laptop and this place’s shit wifi.” She looked back and forth between Steve and Sam. “We need better resources.”

 

“Like what?” Sam asked. “Where? We’re kind of out on our own on this thing.”

 

Natasha and Steve locked eyes and had a silent conversation that made Sam a little angry to be left out of, even though he knew what it was about.

 

Steve sighed. “I can call him.”

 

“Steve, no offense, but do you really think that’s a good idea?” Steve had told them, in broken sentences and occasional bursts of guilt, some of what had happened in Siberia. Sam only knew some of it, but he knew it hadn’t ended well. He was also pretty sure that Steve hadn’t done that much to fix things, but he didn’t want to push him. They’d made their decisions, and they were all they had now.

 

“He, he’s not heartless, Nat. The Avengers used to be family, _his family_. He wouldn’t just leave Wanda to die, even after everything.” Steve looked like he didn’t quite believe what he was saying, and Sam didn’t really blame him.

 

“He doesn’t trust you, Rogers, and he certainly doesn’t trust me anymore. We betrayed him. But Sam…”

 

Sam blinked. “Huh? Tony doesn’t trust me. I sided with you.”

 

“But you didn’t stab him in the back the way we did,” Natasha said softly.

 

“Besides,” Steve said, “you’re the least recognizable of the three of us. If anyone could actually make it to New York to see him, it would be you.”

 

He tried to protest, because, really, he was sure he was one of the last people Tony would want to see, but they were right. Wanda needed help, and no way was he going to wimp out of doing the one thing that could find her. And he really did believe Tony would help, he just hoped they made it past the shoot-first-ask-questions-later phase.

 

 

 

They only had one car, and flying to New York would be way too risky, so Sam dropped Steve and Nat off at a motel a few towns over and set off with nothing but his gear, half a box of granola bars, an address Nat had hastily scrawled on a square of toilet paper, and a promise to keep his friends updated. They weren’t losing track of anyone else.

 

Arizona to New York was a long-ass drive. He figured he’d make it in a couple days if he just pulled over and slept in the car, but he realized that was risky, and unrealistic.

 

And man, he hated Steve’s car.

 

He didn’t want to make a big stop, but he had to. He was stressed, worried, and _exhausted_ , so although he felt bad about it, he found himself turning the car onto a winding dirt road and stumbling to the door of the farmhouse Nat had recommended.

 

He just wanted sleep. Sleep. Sleep, in a bed by himself, without anyone else, or the constant threat of bedbugs.

 

Clint probably didn’t have bedbugs.

 

Right?

 

He probably should have told Clint he was coming.

 

* * *

 

 

Clint was retired, and on house arrest, but that didn’t mean he was leaving himself defenseless. More people than he was comfortable with already knew the location of his home and his family, so he tended to be on-edge.

 

Thunder rumbling? A disturbance to peace and safety.

 

The dog going crazy because a bird flew too close to the window? Potential intruder.

 

A knock on the door at 11:26 on a Thursday night? Enemies, a fight, danger to his family _on-site._

 

He sent Laura upstairs to be with the kids and crept towards the door, bow at the ready. He wasn’t even supposed to have it, but he was a spy—he could keep things hidden. He had an arrow notched and pulled back before the door even finished swinging open.

 

And nearly shot Sam Wilson’s face off.

 

“Jesus, fuck, man,” Sam said with a wide-eyed chuckle. “I guess I should have called.”

 

Clint lowered his weapon and hastily beckoned the other man inside. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Pit stop,” Sam said. “I needed a place to crash.”

 

“Where are you going? Where are Nat and Wanda and Steve?”

 

Sam’s face turned grim. “Wanda’s missing. And I’ve been tasked with finding her.”

 

Wanda. Missing. Danger.

 

Clint blinked, trying to comprehend. “Why just you? Why isn’t everyone on this?” He sounded much harsher than he intended.

 

“We need help finding her,” Sam said. “Technological help. So, I’m going to New York to get it.”

 

“You can’t be serious. That’s—that’s a dead end, Sam. He’s not gonna help you. You’re just wasting time that Wanda doesn’t have!”

 

Sam made an odd face that Clint couldn’t really make sense of through his onset panic and resurfacing anger.

 

“Man, I know you’ve never been Stark’s biggest fan—”

 

“Why should I be? He only thinks about himself—”

 

“I don’t—”

 

“And he never liked Wanda. He’s never forgiven her, no matter how many times she's proven she's on the right side. He won’t be a big enough person to help her. His ego—”

 

“We have to try, Clint! We don’t have any other options.”

 

“Fine,” Clint said, his voice a stony whisper. “Then I’m coming with you. I’ll make Stark help.”

 

Sam frowned and glanced around the house at the colorful drawings on the wall and the toys on the floor, at the photo of Clint and Laura on their wedding day sitting on the mantle, at the hand-painted mugs on the coffee table next to a bright green sippycup. His gaze came to rest on the monitor that weighed heavily on Clint’s ankle.

  
“Clint, you can’t.”

 

“I can. Sam, I’m a spy. I can hack my way out of this thing in my sleep.”

 

He could. He’d figured out how to do it the first week of his house arrest, just in case. But he didn’t, because he needed to stay, for his family.

 

But Wanda needed him. When he thought of her, he felt protective, paternal even.

 

He thought of Wanda spending time with Laura and the kids, how well she fit in. Wanda in the yard, laughing and letting the kids win at soccer. Wanda at Christmastime, wearing a colorful sweater that Lila picked out to match her. Wanda and Laura, gossiping over tea and cooking together, using her powers to help clean afterwards, even though it was Cooper’s turn to do the dishes. Wanda teasing Clint and conspiring with his kids, leaving all of them crying with laughter.

 

“Are you sure?” Sam asked.

 

“She’s family, too, Sam.”

 

“Okay.” Sam sighed.

 

* * *

 

 

He let Clint stay back while he approached the compound. Clint and Tony hadn’t exactly ended things on the best terms…

 

(Neither had Sam and Tony, but it was better than Clint… In his anger, Clint had said some awful things about Rhodes that made Sam cringe to even think about. He hadn’t liked seeing that side of Clint at all, and a big part of him was terrified it would re-emerge now.)

 

“I know you’re not heartless, Tony, and this isn’t about me. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t desperate, but you have resources we don’t. We need your help.”

 

“We? Who’s we?” Tony tapped his foot rapidly and gripped his left wrist, drumming his finger on the back of his hand with a tense, nervous energy. Sam could feel his anxiety practically radiating through the air. He tried to make himself seem as open and earnest as possible but was hard to meet Tony’s eyes when they kept shifting.

 

“Where’s Wanda, Stark?” Clint said, and Sam sighed internally. He wasn’t helping. The last thing this meeting needed was more anger.

 

But Tony didn’t get angry, he just sort of blinked. “Huh?”

 

“Wanda,” Clint said. “She’s missing. Can you find her.”

 

“I… I don’t have time for this,” Tony said. He moved to step back inside, but Clint stopped him by grabbing his arm.

 

Sam tried to look apologetic. He put his hand on Clint’s other shoulder and tried to ease him away from Tony, but Clint resisted. “Come on, man,” Sam said. “We need your help on this.”

 

Tony yanked himself out of Clint’s grip and shot him a glare. “I can’t. I told you, I’m busy. You decided to turn your back on everything, and that’s not my fault. I tried to protect Wanda before. I tried to keep everyone together, I tried to keep everyone safe, but you guys didn’t think about the consequences. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of something important.”

 

“More important than a kid’s life?” Clint demanded. Tony turned around slowly to face him, his expression unreadable. “You really are heartless, Stark. She’s in danger and you _don’t care._ Do you feel anything at all?”

 

Tony was silent for a moment. His face was pale and his whole body seemed to shake. This was not going the way Sam had planned.

 

“Of course not,” Clint continued with a sneer. “You didn’t lose anything. You get your freedom, you get to keep playing hero, you get to see the people you care about every day. Why should you care that Wanda, a kid with her whole life ahead of her, is in danger?”

 

“She’s not a kid!”

 

Sam had expected Tony to explode, but he hadn’t expected _that_ to be the subject of his anger. Maybe Wanda wasn’t technically a kid, but she was the youngest member of their ex-team, the least experienced, and they tried to look after her.

 

Tony took a deep breath and continued. “She’s not. Clint, you have kids, you know full well that she’s an adult. She makes her own decisions.”

 

“And that means she doesn’t deserve help?” Sam asked quietly. “Tony, please.”

 

Tony rubbed his face and sighed. “I have my own people to look out for, Sam. I can’t divert my attention away from this. _I can’t._ ”

 

“Fuck you, Stark,” Clint hissed.

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony said.

 

“Wait!” Sam couldn’t let him go inside. If he did, he wouldn’t come back out again. This was their only shot. Besides, something was going on, something Tony wasn’t telling them. “Tony, please, what’s happening? What’s wrong?”

 

“Other than two war criminals showing up on my lawn just to hurl insults at me?”

 

Sam winced. “Yes.”

 

Tony was studying him now. He wanted to tell them, he wanted help, but Sam and Clint, they weren’t trustworthy. They weren’t friends or teammates or even allies anymore. Sam wanted to help him, and Tony probably wanted to help them, but there were so many burnt bridges between them.

 

“Come on, Tony,” Sam tried again. “If you’re not going to help us find Wanda, at least tell us why. Maybe we can help each other.”

 

“I don’t think you can help me.”

 

“Why not?” Clint asked. “We’re too stupid? Too far beneath the great Tony Stark?”

 

Sam shot him a quick glare. “Not helping, man.”

 

“I’m trying to find someone,” Tony said sharply. “Since you showed up here demanding that I help find your missing person, you’ll have to excuse me for believing you would have some trouble locating mine.”

 

“Who?” Sam asked. “Two missing people? That can’t be a coincidence, Tony.”

 

"Maybe it isn't," Tony said slowly. "But I have to find him and I can't waste any time."

 

"Boss," FRIDAY's voice chimed from the doorway, "I have an update on our search."

 

Tony's eyes lit up. "What is it, Fri?"

 

"Unfortunately, I haven't found anything on the whereabouts of Mr. Parker, but I was able to find a match for one of the people that took him."

 

He sagged in defeat. "Who is it, Fri?"

 

"Vivian Scad. She was at the compound on Saturday of last week, when Peter sat in on that board meeting. There's even video footage of her interacting with him."

 

"Scoping him out," Tony muttered. "Damnit."

 

"She also matches ex-SHIELD files that I managed to dig up. She's a combat operative. With Hydra."

 

"Hydra," Sam repeated. "Tony, what's going on? Who's Peter?"

 

"If anyone could take down Wanda, it would be Hydra," Clint said slowly. 

 

"Exactly," Sam said. "Two important people missing in such a short amount of time? Come on, Tony, you have to see that something bigger is going on."

 

Tony sighed, desperation painted all over his face. "Fine. Just don't get in my way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next update will bring us back to Peter and Wanda and hopefully will be up fairly soon!
> 
> If you're interested, you can find me on my incredibly shitty tumblr as emaveee 
> 
> <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably need a better update schedule but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ anyways have another update in under 24 hours (i think?)
> 
> warning: this chapter does include a character mentioning wanting to die--not really suicidal thoughts, and mentions are brief and not graphic, but it is something to be aware of

It was even harder to wake up this time. He wasn’t as confused; he knew he’d been drugged, he knew he was still with Hydra, but the drugs coursing through his veins were stronger this time and the blinding lights of his new prison made him want to squeeze his eyes shut for fear of going blind.

 

He knew he needed to get up. He’d made a mistake, took a risk he shouldn’t have, and now he had to pay for it. Boy, he did not want to pay for it. The interrogation, the beatings, he could take those. They were meant for a normal kid, not a kid with super strength and a healing factor. Now that they knew what he really was, what would they do to him?

 

Maybe if he didn’t open his eyes, they wouldn’t do anything.

 

“I know you’re awake,” a voice said. It wasn’t harsh, but it also wasn’t comforting. He’d never really spoken to her, but he recognized Wanda Maximoff’s accent from before that shitshow of a fight went down. Her voice was quiet, not in condolence, but rather from disuse. He wondered how long she’d been here, how long since she’d spoken of her own free will.

 

He cracked open one eye and flinched back at the brightness. They’d been moved from that grimy interrogation room into someplace much worse.

 

Peter hated hospitals. Hated them. There were too many people, too many sounds, too many harsh lights. But the worst was the smell—chemicals and death that burned his nostrils and made his head spin.

 

This was worse. This was the sterile smell of hospital without any of the things that made it tolerable. There were no steadily beeping machines that hinted at life and recovery, there was no one holding his hand and running comforting fingers through his hair, there was no browsing the gift shop to pick out some ridiculous cheesy gift that left him laughing despite the situation. This was a lab, and Peter was the subject.

 

“I’m sorry,” Wanda spoke again. “This is my fault. I should have just given them the information. Then they would not have discovered you.”

 

Peter forced both his eyes open and hauled himself into a sitting position, ignoring the way his chest ached dully from his mostly-healed ribs. His face didn’t feel swollen anymore, so he figured that must have healed already. Yeah, they probably would have figured him out anyways.

 

First order of business, take stock of his surroundings. The awful smell matched the sterile white appearance of the room. Part of it reminded him of the medbay at the compound—clean and white, with a similar cot to lay on and the same cold floor—but the rest was so startlingly unfamiliar that he wanted to cry.

 

The room he was in was similar to the size of his bedroom at home, although it was much, much emptier. Most of the room was bare, but the wall to his right was a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror that had to be one-way glass, so they could watch him, like a lab rat.

 

The far wall was made entirely of transparent glass—reinforced, he guessed—and behind it sat Scarlet Witch in a room that mirrored his own. There were small holes in the glass, not large enough to fit more than a few fingers through, but they allowed sound to travel between their cells. Wanda sat on the floor, leaning back against the edge of her cot, still decked out in her straightjacket and shock collar. There were dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks looked hollow. Against the crisp, clean backdrop, she looked dirty and broken, with stringy unwashed hair hanging in her face and tear tracks cutting through the grime on her skin.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Peter said. “They would have figured it out eventually.” He hates how his voice cracks, but he can’t stop it. He’s scared now. This room, it makes him feel like he’s not human, like the outside world doesn’t exist anymore. Like there’s no one coming to save him.

 

He has to push those thoughts away. Mr. Stark will find him. He’ll rescue him. He was probably already on his way. Peter just had to hold on.

 

He shifted to get off the bed and move towards Wanda. He wanted to talk—maybe she knew something about this place that he didn’t. She’d been here longer, and she could read minds.

 

But the moment his feet hit the ground—his now _bare_ feet—he realized what he was wearing. It wasn’t a straightjacket and prison uniform like Wanda. (No, he wasn’t a prisoner.) It was closer a hospital gown: clean white fabric that hung down to his knees, short sleeves that left him feeling exposed, and, worst of all, the black Hydra logo over his breastbone, marking him as their specimen. He gagged and wished he could tear the outfit off, but that would have left him in just his boxers.

 

“How long do you think we have before they come back?” Peter asked.

 

Wanda glanced at the mirrored wall. “Probably not very long. It looks like they plan to study you, so they will know what you’re doing at all times. I am sorry it has come to this.”

 

“What do you think would have happened, you know, if you’d told them about Mr. Stark’s tech? Would they have let me go?”

 

Wanda hung her head. “Probably not. My guess is that they would have killed you. But I fear that what is happening now is worse than death.”

 

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “No, as long as we’re alive, we can be rescued.”

 

Without looking up, Wanda huffed out a broken laugh and shook her head. The knot of fear in Peter’s stomach grew as he watched her, hopeless enough to laugh at the idea of rescue, broken enough to not fear death. Peter wonders how long it’ll take before he’s the same way.

 

_No. Mr. Stark. He’s coming. You won’t be here long enough to find out. Just hold on._

 

When the door slides open, in walks a Hydra scientist that Peter doesn’t recognize, not that he would know many Hydra scientists. It’s not Dr. Lowell, though. No, Hydra’s moved on from Stark tech. They don’t need a physicist or an engineer, no, they need a biologist, a geneticist, a chemist—someone who can open Peter up and see how he ticks.

 

Without even realizing what he’s doing, Peter scrambles back onto the bed and tucks his knees in towards his chest, like he used to do when he was little and he was scared monsters could grab him if he got too close to the edge.

 

He levels the scientist a glare that doesn’t at all match his demeanor and the scientist just quirks an eyebrow up at him.

 

The scientist looks at Wanda on the other side of the glass. “Can you feel his emotions, witch? Does he feel fear?”

 

Wanda studies him with a practiced expression of neutrality. “No,” she says, and it’s a lie. “No, he feels anger.”

 

“Hmm." The man looks amused. "Not confusion, though, little spider? You aren’t questioning your purpose here? Or the witch’s?”

 

“You want to study me,” Peter guessed. “You’re not the first.” It’s true. Some of the more daring criminals he’s come across have made jibes about wanting to know how strong he was or how fast he healed, but none of them had ever actually caught him. And Mr. Stark had studied him, though not for the same purposes. His tests weren’t painful or invasive, and he just wanted to make sure Peter was healthy and not dealing with any adverse side effects from having his DNA rewritten. He sort of doubted Hydra would be gentle. 

 

“No,” the scientist mused, “I don’t doubt it. You have extraordinary gifts. Imagine what Hydra could do with your abilities.”

 

“Didn’t you already try the whole super soldier thing?” Peter asked. “I’m pretty sure that didn’t work out very well.”

 

“Yes, but we’re always trying new things. And we realize now that brainwashing can only take one so far. No, when we figure out your powers, we’ll use them for a new generation of Hydra, loyal of their own volition, and unstoppable.”

 

“So, why am I here?” Wanda asked. “I won’t look into his mind for you.”

 

The scientist chuckled. “We don’t need you to. No, the spider himself doesn’t understand his powers, not at a scientific level. We have a team of experts for that. No, witch, you’re here to wait. Besides, like him, you weren’t born with your abilities. And yes, without the mind stone in our possession, they will be difficult to replicate, but we believe we’ve figured it out. We just need you so we can test the subjects’ abilities against yours. In the meantime, you’ll serve as incentive for our spider friend. We’d really rather not waste resources on drugging him every time we have to move him, so as long as he plays along, you stay alive. If he disobeys, he can watch you suffer and die. It’s a win-win!”

 

“He doesn’t know me,” Wanda said. “He won’t care if I die.”

 

The scientist smiled. “We’ve been observing the Spider-Man for quite some time. He helps people, he saves people, and most importantly, he doesn’t kill, not even criminals. You don’t take death lightly, do you, spider? Letting someone, even a stranger, die for you—well, it just doesn’t seem like something you’d do.”

 

“Even if it’s what I want?” Wanda stared the scientist down, daring him. Peter didn’t miss how her whole body shook.

 

“Even then. Compassion truly is a weakness. Now, spider, if you’ll follow me, my colleagues are eager to begin their tests.”

 

Peter didn’t move. He didn’t want to go with this man. He didn’t want to be a lab rat.

 

“If it’s not enough incentive,” the scientist said, “we can do more than just kill her.” He reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a small plastic rectangle. Wanda’s eyes went wide with fear and Peter recognized it as the remote for her shock collar. She’d talked very bluntly about this place being worse than death—Peter didn’t want to be the cause of that pain. He couldn't do that to her. With shaky limbs, he pushed himself to his feet and forced himself to walk over to the scientist.

 

The scientist smiled and set his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Very good.” Peter choked down a gag and refused to look the man in the eye. “Let’s go. The lab’s not far.”

 

At least they wouldn’t be torturing him in there, with Scarlet Witch watching. Yippee.

 

 

 

The lab they take him to is a strange place. It’s not some cold doctor’s office with tables prepped for surgery like he expected. No, it’s a lot closer to the compound’s training lab: a large open room with a wide array of machines meant to test anything from applied force to reflexes—there’s even a treadmill. High up, behind a pane of glass, Hydra scientists were huddled in a spectator box, as if this were a football stadium and they had VIP seats.

 

He was relieved that they weren’t about to start slicing into him, but it didn’t make him feel any less like a freak or a test subject, and they call him  _spider_ , as if he's not anything human.

 

The scientist who walked him to the lab retreated to a corner to give instructions while four combat agents hovered around him to make sure he stayed in line.

 

They were starting with physical tests. They wanted to know everything about how his body operated—his strength, his agility, his reflexes, his speed, his strange sixth sense. And he knew why. When they made their new set of soldiers, they needed to know that they would be stronger, faster, better than anyone else alive, so nothing could stop them.

 

They made him punch and kick things with all his strength, recording how much force he applied. They made him run at different speeds, seeing how far and how fast he could go before his body couldn’t take it anymore and he collapsed. He always woke up back in his room with Wanda, but they only gave him enough time to sleep that wave of exhaustion away before they whisked him off for the next set of tests.

 

That’s the way it went—pushing him to his limits until he physically couldn’t take anymore. They dropped things on him, heavy things for him to try and catch (if he didn’t, they’d crush him), until he passed out from exertion and, thankfully, the heavy blocks of metal were caught by a net that hung too low to stop the weights while he was standing, but saved him from becoming a pancake when he fell to the floor. It was too reminiscent of Homecoming night and Peter woke up sobbing.

 

He lost track of time. Days didn’t exist anymore, just tests. Test after test after test. He woke up, ate, had maybe a few moments to sit in silence while Wanda studied him with sadness, and then he was taken away. He didn’t sleep at nights, just in the time between testing. He didn’t know how long he slept, but he knew he usually wasn’t in the lab for longer than a couple hours before he was waking up and it was starting all over again.

 

It was all one blurry, exhausting nightmare. He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants to _sleep._

He wants to feel human again.

 

But it doesn't stop there.

 

They tested his eyesight by giving him eyes exams and shocking him when he got one wrong, even though he doubted anyone alive could actually make out some of the minuscule images on the chart.

 

They tested his hearing similarly, shocking him when he couldn’t hear sounds. Quiet, loud, low, high—they bombarded him with pitch after pitch until the migraine from his overstimulated senses grew too much and he passed out from the pain.

 

They took his blood, several pints of it. They blindfolded him and made him run mazes, giving him shocks if he went too slow of ran into a wall. They tested his reaction to different temperatures—locking him a small room and upping the temperature until he collapsed from the heat, and, once he recovered, putting him back and doing the same thing with the cold. Spiders didn’t thermoregulate and Peter didn’t last long. He thought he was going to die right there, felt like his organs were shutting down. The only thing worse was when they held him underwater until he lost consciousness in order to see how long he could go without oxygen and he thought _This is it. This time I won’t wake up._

 

But he does.

 

He does and it _still not over and no one’s come to save him yet,_ to tear him away from this hell.

 

He tries not to feel too terrified by that. He doesn’t know what days are. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Mr. Stark has to be working on finding him. He just has to hold on.

 

_Hold on. Hold on. Hold on._

 

Wanda tries not to look at him. He can see her bowing her head, crying silently, and he knows it’s for him. She can feel his thoughts, his pain and fear, his desperate need to believe that his mentor is coming. She doesn't believe he is.

 

_Hold on. Hold on. He’s coming._

_He’s coming. He has to be coming. Hold—hold on._

_Mr. Stark. Please._

 

He has to be, because Peter’s already slipping, but Hydra’s just getting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish I could say things are gonna get better from here... poor pete I'm so sorry


	6. Chapter 6

The air between them was tense as Sam, Clint, and Tony sat in the conference room, watching FRIDAY run scans of every camera and news report that could have anything to do with their missing people. She’d expanded her search to include hints at Wanda’s whereabouts, but so far, the AI hadn’t been able to produce any results.

 

Clint and Tony had situated themselves in opposite corners of the room and Sam had tried to ease some of the tension by sitting in the middle, but it hadn’t done much. Clint continued to glare daggers at the back of Tony’s head, while Tony drummed his fingers anxiously. He looked wrecked, and dividing his resources to help look for Wanda—well, Tony didn’t exactly look happy with that decision.

 

Both Sam and Clint had pressed him for details on Peter Parker, but all they’d gotten out of him was a gruff, _“He’s my intern.”_

 

“I thought Stark Industries didn’t take interns,” Clint said.

 

“Well, we made an exception.”

 

An exception, yeah, this kid must be pretty damn special to make Tony seem _this_ scared. Of course, Tony wasn’t the type of person to ignore it if anyone on his staff (or anyone in general) was kidnapped, but Sam could see the cracks already starting to form in Tony’s stony façade. Already, any semblance of humor or narcissism or cockiness that he could use to build up boundaries was breaking down. His hands shook, his voice warbled, his eyes raked the screens until they lost focus and he blinked away fear and despondence.

 

It was eerily similar to the way Clint had looked the car ride here.

 

They had been there for about forty minutes when Tony excused himself to talk to Happy, and Clint said something about grabbing food, leaving Sam on monitor duty. Alone. And all these dead ends were starting to get to him.

 

“FRIDAY?” he said, glancing up at the ceiling. “Who is Tony looking for?”

 

“Boss is searching for Peter Parker, a Stark Industries intern, but I believe you already knew that, sir.”

 

“Right. But who is he?”

 

“Peter Parker is a Stark Industries intern.”

 

“Yes, but what else?”

 

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that information, Mr. Wilson. You will have to ask Boss about it when he returns.”

 

“What can you tell me? Come on, Fri. Anything. It’ll help with the search.”

 

The AI was quiet for a moment as if hesitating. Huh. He didn’t know that was a thing. “This will help you locate Mr. Parker?”

 

“Yes. Please, Fri. Anything you can give me?”

 

“It is against my protocol to share any personal information about Mr. Parker, but I can access his personnel file for you.”

 

“Better than nothing,” Sam grumbled to himself. “Pull it up for me, Fri.”

 

It was short, nothing but some basic information. There wasn’t even anything on what the guy was doing as an intern.

 

_Parker, Peter B._

_DOB: 8/10/2001_

_Intern_

_Hired: 5/6/2016_

_Clearance level: 9_

_Emergency Contact: May Parker, aunt_

_Blood type: O+_

Blood type. Huh. That was an odd thing to include on an employee file. Did Tony do that with all his employees? Maybe. He was a bit eccentric at times.

 

There was a photo, too. An ID photo.

 

A photo of a smiling, baby-faced teenager.

 

Sam’s stomach churned. Birthday. The kid’s birthday was listed. It could be an old photo. Maybe the person they were looking for wasn’t a missing kid. Maybe it was old. Maybe—

 

_8/10/2001_

 

He was seventeen. Tony was searching for a seventeen-year-old—a seventeen-year-old who’d been kidnapped by Hydra. And here they were demanding he drop everything and look for Wanda, who he’d never really had a great relationship with. While there was a missing kid. No wonder Tony had been so pissy.

 

He touched the holographic image of the smiling boy and watched as it expanded. The kid looked ecstatic—and who wouldn’t be? The chance to intern at Stark Industries? Opportunity of a lifetime.

 

Look where it got him.

 

Sam tried to zoom back out, tired of looking at this kid, guilt and disgust crawling up his throat, but he was a little out of touch with Stark’s tech, and instead of reverting the picture back to its original size, he swiped forward into a file full of pictures.

 

The thumbnails were small, since there were so many pictures, but he could tell that the main subject was Peter. He clicked on one, waiting for FRIDAY to stop him, to tell him this file was off-limits, but she didn’t, and the image came into full view.

 

It was the kid, Peter, grinning with motor oil on his forehead. He was posing next to some device Sam couldn’t even begin to understand, looking proud. He was in a lab, but as Sam looked closer, he realized that this wasn’t the lab he used to find himself in when he needed his gear repaired. He recognized DUM-E and the other bots, an old MIT sweatshirt thrown across the back of a chair, and what looked like Tony and Pepper’s engagement photos sitting on the desk. This was Tony’s personal lab.

 

Curiosity growing, Sam swiped forward in the album.

 

Peter and Tony working together on an iron man suit, both of them grinning, but neither of them looking like they knew FRIDAY was capturing the moment. Sam had rarely seen that genuine of a smile on Tony’s face. It was something reserved for Pepper or Rhodey when he thought no one else was around.

 

Peter throwing up a peace sign while Tony slumped against his desk in the background, clearly asleep.

 

Peter and Tony fake sword fighting with a wrench and a screwdriver, Tony’s brows furrowed in determination even as he grinned, Peter’s tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

 

Both Peter and Tony asleep on the lab floor, a calculator and what looked like math homework splayed between them, forgotten. FRIDAY had captured it. Maybe Tony had saved it, but that seemed like it would be a personal file. Sam knew FRIDAY well enough to know that she had her own personality, and that she sometimes took it upon herself to do things she thought Tony would want, without asking. He could imagine the AI watching Tony and this kid grow close and deciding that these memories would be good to save. This was Peter Parker, not a name and an emergency contact and a blood type, but a lively, smart kid, so she put that in his file, even if Tony had tried to make it just basic facts.

 

Peter wasn’t some random employee, Sam realized with a staggering wave of nausea. He was a _kid._ If he didn’t know better, he might even guess that Peter was Tony’s kid. And he probably was, the same way Wanda was like Clint’s kid.

 

And someone had targeted him, taken him.

 

No wonder Tony looked like he was falling apart.

 

* * *

 

Clint slipped out of the conference room after Stark, immediately abandoning all thought of food to slink after the man. He didn’t trust Stark. He could be turning them in to the FBI while he and Sam sat dumbly in the conference room, chasing empty leads and Clint wasn’t dumb enough to take the chance.

 

 Stark was in the common room, talking to someone. Clint stayed back, lurking in the shadowy hallway where he couldn’t be seen.

 

“Somebody took him? Tony…” It was a woman’s voice, on the verge of tears. Clint frowned and continued to listen.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, they took him.” That was Stark, sounding broken. All the coldness he’d used with Sam and Clint gone, guilt taking its place.

 

Of course he felt guilty. Stark was always getting all weepy when it was too late. He always felt bad after his mistakes ruined someone’s life, but never bad enough to change. He’d recover soon, then he’d start the process all over, never learning, never stopping to consider how he was hurting everyone around him.

 

“But you can find him, right? You can bring him back?”

 

“I—I’m trying, May. I’m looking everywhere, tracing every lead.”

 

“And?”

 

Silence, for a moment. “Nothing,” Stark’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “I’m so sorry, May. I have nothing. It’s been hours. I should have noticed—”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Happy’s voice cut in. “It was mine. I shouldn’t have let them take him.”

 

“But you’re not giving up, right?” May said. “Tony, please, I can’t lose him.”

 

“No,” Tony said. “Never. I wanted to be as honest with you as possible. He’s your kid. But no, I won’t give up. I just—I just wish I had _something_ to work with.”

 

“You’ll find him,” May said. “You have to.”

 

For a few moments, the conversation stilled. Clint could hear someone crying softly—May, probably. No one said anything to comfort her.

 

“Why did they take him?” May asked finally.

 

“I don’t know,” is Tony’s reply. “I know they were targeting him specifically, scoped him out beforehand. But I don’t know if they want him to get to me or to get to the company or if they want him.”

 

“I thought his identity was a secret.”

 

“I thought so too. I hope it still is. This is Hydra and I hate that he’s even with them at all, but if they know he’s Spider-Man, if they know what his biology is…”

 

“Oh God,” is all May can whisper. “God, Tony. My poor baby.”

 

_Spider-Man._

 

Clint saw red. Stark’s looking for a missing vigilante.

 

Stark’s been hiding a fugitive, protecting his identity. He should have been protecting his teammates. He turned on them the moment they disagreed with him, but for some reason this weird spider guy gets a free pass? Because he was convenient to Stark?

 

Bullshit. It was bullshit. Spider-Man. Bullshit. _Bull fucking shit._

 

Clint marched with raging fists and an angry jaw back to the conference room. Sam quickly closed a tab he was looking at and turned to look at him, uneasy.

 

“What happened?”

 

Clint didn’t get to answer before Stark walked back in. He whirled on him in an instant.

 

“Whoa, man,” Sam said, moving to stand near the two men, palms up. “What’s going on?”

 

“Spider-Man,” Clint growled. “The missing person is Spider-Man. He’s a fucking hypocrite, supporting some guy and helping him hide from the Accords, but not his actual friends. You’d really chose some random vigilante over Wanda? She was your teammate, Stark. Fuck you. You just use whoever’s near you, you help whoever is convenient for you. If you’re not going to get anything out of it, then what’s the point, right? Doesn’t matter that they’re your teammates, right? Because they don’t share your opinions, so they don’t deserve your help. It’s a one-way street with Tony fucking Stark.”

 

“He’s seventeen.” Sam's voice was harsh and angry and it took Clint a moment to realize that that anger was directed at him, not Stark.

 

“Huh?” Clint turned to Sam reluctantly, not wanting to tear his glare away from Stark.

 

“Peter,” Sam said, using Spider-Man’s real name. “He’s seventeen. He was protecting a kid, Clint. This isn’t about us or Wanda or the old team, this is about a missing kid.”

 

Clint looked back at Stark. He was watching Sam with surprise.

 

“Is that true?” Clint asked, some of the harshness gone from his tone. “He’s a kid?”

 

“Yes,” Stark said quietly. “I need to find him. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good kid—the best. He—he doesn’t deserve this. And if Hydra knows who he is, they’ll tear him apart. I can’t let that happen. I can’t lose him. I—I _need_ to find him.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam said. He looked sideways at Clint. “We get that, man. We’re with you. But I still think our two problems are connected. Two missing superheroes?”

 

“Can’t be a coincidence,” Clint finished.

 

Stark nodded. “I know—I know you’re probably right, but I can’t take this. I can’t stand not knowing, not knowing anything. I feel like I’m failing him.”

 

“We’ll find him,” Sam said. “And Wanda, too. We just have to keep looking. We can’t give up, but then again, when has anyone in this room ever been known to do that, huh?”

  

* * *

 

 

Five days. Peter had been missing for five days now.

 

And they had _nothing._ Nothing on him, nothing on Wanda, nothing on the Hydra bastards that took him. Nothing.

 

The only thing that kept Tony from breaking down was the fact that everyone was counting on him not to. May was a wreck, but who could blame her? She was allowed to be a mess. Her kid was missing.

 

And Sam and Clint, he couldn’t break down in front of them. That wasn’t who Tony Stark was supposed to be, and he wasn’t about to let them see the real him now, the one that was falling apart at the seams, held together by scotch tape and coffee and Peter’s misplaced yet never-wavering faith in him. He couldn’t fail Peter.

 

That was the big one. Peter. Peter was counting on him to figure this out. He didn’t have time for tears or outbursts when he needed to find Peter.

 

But sometimes he struggled to see an end to this. Now, five days from Peter’s disappearance, five days from _“Mr. Stark, I love you,”_ he was struggling to hold on to the idea that they could still find him. Or that they would find him alive.

 

He swallowed bile and tried to push those thoughts from his mind, but they remained, looming at the edge of his thoughts like storm clouds.

 

He had to be alive.

 

But maybe he wasn’t. Because they didn’t have him yet, and Peter dying would fit his pattern of failing everyone he loved.

 

Tony sat in silence, wishing he wasn’t having these thoughts. Peter wouldn’t want him to think that way, and anyways, his wallowing in self-pity wasn’t helping anyone. But he couldn’t help it.

 

_Mr. Stark, I love you._

 

This is why he put up walls. This is why he didn’t let people into his life.

 

_I love you, too, kid._

 

He never said it back, but that didn’t stop him from loving Peter like a son. He loved him as if he were his own kid. He never should have. He never told Peter he loved him, but that didn’t stop him. And it didn’t stop Peter from paying for that love.

 

He was too busy wallowing to really notice when Clint sat down next to him.

 

“I… I wanted to say sorry,” the archer said. He looked at the floor, not at Tony, but it was still the closest they’d been in a long time, and certainly the least hostile.

 

Tony made a noise of acknowledgement but didn’t respond.

 

“I misjudged you,” Clint continued. “And I think I’ve been misjudging you for a long time. I’m sorry. What I’ve seen of you and Peter, and how much you care about him, and how you’re still trying to help Wanda, too, I—I always thought, well—just, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I’ve acted since coming here, and I’m sorry for how I treated you before.”

 

For a moment, it was quiet. Tony wasn’t quite sure he wasn’t hearing things. He’d always sort of hoped his friends could see the real him, even if he simultaneously tried as hard as he could to keep that vulnerable part of himself hidden. And here was Clint Barton of all people apologizing for having not seen through his facade sooner.

 

“It’s okay,” Tony said finally. “I put up walls. It’s not your fault.” If the man was going to try and apologize, the least he could do was be honest back.

 

“But I should have realized that that’s what it was sooner. I’m a spy, for God’s sakes, I should have figured it out. I should have realized it was an act.”

 

“I put on the act because I didn’t really want you to see through it.”

 

“Yeah, but Sam figured it out, and I’ve known you longer than he has. I should have seen it.”

 

Tony shrugged. “It’s Sam’s job to see when people are faking it. I avoided him for a long time for that very reason.”

 

“Still, I should have known. And, I’m sorry about Peter. He seems like a good kid.”

 

“He is.” Tony couldn't stop his smile. He shouldn’t smile, not when Peter’s still missing. “He’s the best. He doesn’t deserve this.”

 

“We’ll find him.”

 

“We’ll find Wanda, too.”

 

“You think?”

 

“Definitely. I won’t stop until both of them are home safe. And, Clint, I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you when you first showed up. I know what Wanda means to you, and it wasn’t right to just ignore your grief.”

 

“It wasn’t right of me to demand you drop everything and help her.”

 

“Maybe not, but I should have been more understanding. I _do_ understand. I was just panicking about Peter. Hell, I’m still panicking.”

 

“I know. I’m panicking, too.”

 

“I know you just want to protect her. You see her almost like one of your kids.”

 

Clint nodded. “I know she’s not actually a kid, but she’s like family. I don’t want to lose her.”

 

“I know the feeling.” He’s surprised at himself, spilling all these feelings with Clint Barton. But the archer opened the dam, and now he doesn’t think he can stop. “Peter’s only seventeen now, but when he’s twenty-five or thirty or a hundred, even, I’m never going to stop worrying about him. Even when he’s a grown adult, I’m never going to stop wanting to protect him. And I know that’s how Wanda is to you. To all of you.”

 

“I know you never had the same relationship with her,” Clint said. “And I know everything really went to shit in Germany, so thank you for helping her. You didn’t have to, and I could see why you wouldn’t want to, but you’re a good person, Tony, and I’m sorry I doubted that.”

 

“I just wish I could do more. It’s been five days and we’re no closer to finding either of them.”

 

“But we will find them. I’m not gonna stop looking, ever. And I don’t think you will either.”

 

Tony shook his head without thinking. It didn’t take even a millisecond for him to decide that Peter was worth every minute of his time, every ounce of his effort. He wouldn’t stop looking until both Peter and Wanda were found. “Never. And you know what? Wanda’s strong. So’s Peter. Maybe they’ll break their own way out and we won’t even have to do any of the work.”

 

A shadow passed over Clint’s face. “Sam told me Wanda’s been missing for months. If she could have broken out, she would have done it by now.”

 

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Maybe she isn’t even with Hydra. Maybe we’re just falsely assuming that they’re in the same place.”

 

“Maybe,” Clint said. He let out a humorless, dry laugh.

 

“God, I hate this. I hate not knowing. I hate not being able to do anything.”

 

“We’ll find them. We’ll figure this out. You’re the smartest person in the world, Tony. No one’s going to stop you from bringing our kids home.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to post, but I just sort of lost inspiration there for a while and I got caught up in some other things and other ideas! 
> 
> thanks for sticking with me <3

There’s been a shift in Hydra’s patterns. They don’t throw an unconscious Peter into his cell anymore. She no longer watches as he sleeps in stillness, his body too exhausted to toss and turn, despite the panicked dreams she can feel radiating off of him. Now, his eyes are open, hazy but awake and aware of what was happening. 

 

And he was slipping, beginning to lose a sense of identity. 

 

She decides, watching with unbearable sadness, that she can’t let that happen. If Stark’s coming for this boy, then he’s gonna find him whole if it’s the last thing Wanda does.

 

But now things are different. They’ve moved on from testing the physical limits of his mutation to opening him up and seeing how he ticks.

 

They still take him, and they take him often, but now when they throw him back on his cot, he’s awake and breathing, chest ratcheting in exhaustion and pain, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. They need him to heal before their next operation and they want to see how long it’ll take his body to sew itself back—two birds, one stone. Agony for Peter.

 

His mind radiates it—pain, at all times. Sometimes screaming and horrible, sometimes a dull persistent ache, but never completely gone. He never knows a moment of peace.

 

In his pale cell, he has nothing to do but stew in his thoughts and lose his faith.

 

Maybe… maybe Wanda could provide a distraction.

 

So she talked to him. She doesn’t have much of her own story to tell, since she wants to stay away from tragedy and focus on positives. At first she’s hesitant to ask, thinking that maybe bringing up happy memories will just make him want for something he can’t have, but once she gets him started, she’s surprised at how easily stories fall from his lips.

 

She asks him about Stark, since that’s where his hope is rooted, and Peter is happy to oblige.

 

His words spill out of him in his pain-addled state. It doesn’t hurt that the kid clearly loves Stark. He’s his mentor, his hero, and he has no shortage of love and support for him.

 

“He’s just done so much for me, you know?” Peter said. “He’s supported me and helped keep me safe and the suit he made me, Wanda, it’s so cool.”

 

“And you think he’s looking for you?”

 

Peter nodded slowly. “He’ll find us. He’ll get us out of here, Wanda, I promise.”

 

Wanda sighed. “He—he’s not gonna help me, kid. I’ve been nothing but terrible to him.”

 

Peter sighed. “But you don’t want to be terrible, do you?”

 

“Of course not! Kid, I wish, I wish _so bad_ that I could go back and do things differently. I was ungrateful and stubborn and I wasn’t willing to change my opinion of him, even though I knew that my opinion was wrong. I knew he wasn’t some evil monster, but I was holding onto those feelings because… well, they made me feel better about myself.”

 

“But why? You could have talked about it. I know he seems really closed off sometimes, but he just wanted everything to work out. All he ever wanted to do was help.”

 

“He hates me, Peter, and for good reason. I didn't want to be accountable for what I'd done, so I let hatred blind me, and I let people forgive me, even though I've never asked for it, and honestly, I've done things that are beyond forgiveness.”

 

“You’re not beyond forgiveness, Wanda. You’re just… running a little late. But you can do it. You’re not beyond redemption. You were an Avenger, so clearly you wanted to be good, you just didn’t quite go about it all the right ways. You know what you have to do, and you're strong, Wanda. You're strong enough to do it.”

 

She chuckled. “You are a good kid, Peter. I can see why Tony likes you.”

 

“I can help you,” Peter said softly. “When we get out of here, I can help. You guys just need to talk.”

 

“Talk… yeah.” She sighed. “You have no idea how much I wish that could happen.”

 

“ _It will happen_. He’s coming to rescue us.” Peter nodded sharply. Somewhere during their conversation, his coherence had returned and the glaze had disappeared from his eyes. He was healing, and it was just a matter of time before the scientists realized that too.

 

Wanda hung her head. “I don’t… No one’s coming to rescue me, Peter, and you know what? I think I deserve that. I don’t deserve to be rescued after what I did.”

 

“No, Wanda! That’s not true! You deserve a second chance. You deserve to figure this out! Make amends! Don’t—”

 

He didn’t get the chance to finish before he was torn away again.

 

It seemed like hours, days even before they brought him back. They threw him into the cell and something seized Wanda’s heart when he didn’t even put out a hand to stop himself from falling.

 

“Peter?” she called softly. “Are you okay?”

 

Of course he wasn’t okay, but still he groaned and pushed up onto his hands and knees and crawled sluggishly over to the wall where he sat down hard and doubled over.

 

“What’s going on?” Wanda asked again, growing desperate for him to give her some sort of answer.

 

He responded by looking up and finally meeting her eyes, and Wanda sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, Peter…”

 

Blood had soaked through his hospital gown, staining his abdomen and streaking the ground. He had wrapped an arm around his stomach in an effort to hold himself together. His face was so horrifyingly pale that he practically matched the sterile white of the cell and tears tracked down from red-rimmed eyes.

 

“I… I think I’m going to die,” Peter whispered. He pulled his arm away from his bloody abdomen and stared at the glistening red on his skin.

 

“No, no, Peter, you’re going to be okay, okay? Just hold on. Mr. Stark is coming, remember? Tony’s going to get you out of here.”

 

Peter’s eyes were glassy. His head lolled slightly on his neck and his body swayed. Suddenly, he pitched sideways, slumping against the wall on the floor, gasping for air. His arms returned to his stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. His arms slid against each other, slick with blood.

 

Wanda hauled herself to her feet, stumbling over towards the one-way glass. Angrily, she kicked at the glass, falling back onto her butt as her balance was thrown off.

 

“You’re killing him!” she screamed at the observers from the floor. “He’s not going to heal, you hear me? He needs medical attention!” Hot angry tears streamed down her face as she yelled wordlessly at their captors. No one came, no one said anything, nothing happened.

 

Wanda blinked and shook her tears away, trying to look at Peter. His head rested against the wall as he watched her with a sad smile. A wave of pain must have taken over because he let lose a groan and curled even farther in on himself, feet scrambling uselessly against the cold floor.

 

“Just hold on,” she croaked. “Come on, Pete. Tony’s coming for you, remember?”

 

For a terrifying moment, his face morphed into an expression of confusion, as if he didn’t actually remember.

 

“Right, Pete? You remember, right? Tony’s coming. He’s going to save you.”

 

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Iron Man. ‘S my hero, Wanda. He’ll save us.”

 

Wanda can’t take it. Her heart is breaking. This kid is dying. Nothing Hydra could have done to her could be worse than watching Peter die like this. He still has hope, and he still believes that if Tony shows up, he’ll rescue Wanda from this hell, too, even though he knows she has no reason to deserve it.

 

No reason. She’s beyond saving. She’s done too many horrible things and this her penance. It shouldn’t be Peter’s, too.

 

No. She can’t let him die.

 

Slowly, Wanda pushed herself up onto her knees. “Just stay right there, Peter,” she whispered. “You’ll be okay. Just don’t move.”

 

She’d been nothing but cruel and horrible and ungrateful to Tony in the past. Even after she’d messed with his head, shown him terrible visions, pushed him to create Ultron and never said a word of apology, he’d helped her. He’d tried to keep the press off her back. He fed and clothed and armored and supported her like she was a real Avenger, like she wasn’t a horrible monster that had invaded his head and torn him apart. She didn’t deserve to be rescued by him.

 

_I’m sorry, Tony. Truly. I’m beyond sorry._

 

But if she could do something, if she could save the kid who looked up to Tony like a father, the kid that she knew Tony loved like a son, then maybe she could do something right for once in her life.

 

A signal. Something big. They had to be searching, she just had to give them something to find.

 

Back turned to the glass, deep breath in, and she tugged at her restraints, with both her arms and her mind. A burst of energy and the straightjacket broke, falling away from her form.

 

Immediately, she jumped into action. There was no time to lose. With one hand, she used her magic to hold Peter steady, to keep him away from the danger. With her other hand and with every other ounce of her concentration and anger, she tore the building to shreds.

 

Madness, frustration, and power ripped through her, sending shockwaves of destruction out through the base. She could hear angry shouting, people coming to stop her, but she didn’t pay any attention.

 

The remote was pressed, and only when the pain tore through her and left her muscles unable to respond to her brain did her magic drop. She collapsed, first onto her hands, then the ground, convulsing, her brain melting.

 

Distantly, she laughed to herself. It didn’t matter what they did to her anymore. It was too late. They were too late. Beyond the pain she could hear things exploding, she could hear screaming. They were too late.

 

_You better find him, Tony._

 

Pride was the last thing she felt before the ceiling began to fall and her world went black.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter didn’t know what was happening. Through pain and the haze that was slowly growing in his mind, he couldn’t comprehend what was going on. There was some horrible screaming noise from Wanda’s cell, some unknown red thing wrapping around him, shielding him. What was that? There hadn’t been anything like that here before. It was warm, safe, comforting. It blurred the cold cruelty of Hydra and made him feel like maybe he wasn’t there anymore.

 

Something was wrong with the ceiling. He could hear it groaning. He watched, unable and unwilling to move, as it pitched downwards. The red cocoon was gone. He braced himself for its impact, but the ceiling never touched him.

 

The dust began to settle, and Peter realized he was no longer leaning against the wall. Instead, he was slumped on the ground, curled up and clutching his stomach, chunks of wall and ceiling surrounding him. The air was cold and biting at his bare skin and he couldn’t stop the violent shiver that tore through him.

 

“Wanda,” he rasped, pushing himself up on his hands. “Wanda!”

 

Nothing. No response. Even the screaming was gone. All around him was rubble and fire, curls of red magic evaporating into the sky like smoke.

 

“Wanda!”

 

She’d done this. The base was ruined, and she’d saved him. But she hadn’t saved herself.

 

“No, no, no.” Peter crawled towards where she’d been, pausing as a wave of pain rolled through him. He reached the fallen concrete, the ceiling above her. It had fallen at an angle, maybe, maybe she was still under there. He had to get her out.

 

His fingers scrambled at the rough edge of the concrete slab as he tried to lift it. The effort made his vision white out. He fell, allowing himself to come to rest with his back on the concrete.

 

“I’m sorry, Wanda,” he said.

 

Distantly, he could hear yelling and footsteps. Hydra would find him. Wanda’s sacrifice would be useless.

 

But he couldn’t move. He was so tired and the cold was painful and his head felt hollow. He was floating, floating away, away from the pain and the cold and his failure, and he let himself go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys, so sorry for the long wait. I just started classes for college so things are a little crazy rn!

They were coming up on two weeks since Peter was taken and they still had nothing. May had had to go back to work, though Tony insisted she stay at the compound at night for her own safety, and he put Happy on-duty driving her and making sure she got to and from work safely. If he couldn’t find Peter, at least he could make sure the most important person in the kid’s life was safe.

 

Small, hollow victories that didn’t make a dent in the black hole of guilt that was slowly consuming him.

 

 _Peter could be dead_ , he realized with a start. The idea, unthought-of before, hit him so hard that he physically tipped sideways in his chair and threatened to collapse onto the unrelenting floor.

 

_No, no, no. He can’t be dead._

 

But then why did they have nothing? Not a single clue? Not even some sort of ransom demand? Was there really nothing he could do for Peter? Was he really failing the kid that badly?

 

_I’m so sorry, Peter._

 

He dipped his head into his hands and pressed his fingers against his closed eyes and tried to push the thought away. It couldn’t be real. Peter wasn’t dead. He wasn’t allowed to be.

 

_But what if he is?_

 

Tony let out a guttural yell, screaming in frustration at his own thoughts, and in the horrible reality that they could very much be true.

 

He was sitting there, going back and forth in his head between _Peter’s dead Peter’s dead_ and _God damnit he’s not dead he can’t be_ , taking breaks to apologize to the poor kid who certainly didn’t deserve this, when Clint came skidding into the room.

 

His feet slid on the floor, but he maintained the agility of the trained spy and never wavered. “Tony, I think we’ve got something. We’ve got something.”

 

Tony was on his feet before he processed Clint’s words. “What? What is it?”

 

The two of them practically sprinted towards the conference room where Sam was furiously downloading coordinates from a video. It was some sort of dingy-looking concrete building in a cold, barren landscape, the wide view making it impossible to see too many details.

 

“A nearby town picked it up. Breaking news, Tony, this just happened. FRIDAY,” Clint said, “show him what you showed us.”

 

The video reset, and for a moment nothing happened. It was just a building, deadly still and devoid of life. Then, it imploded, literally. Waves of red light rippled throughout the building tearing it down from the inside. He’d know that light anywhere. He’d seen it hundreds of times, used to lift teammates up and hurl cars and, just like it did now, destroy buildings.

 

“Wanda,” Tony said.

 

Clint nodded. “It’s her. It’s Wanda.”

 

Tony stared, watching the building collapse into ruins. If it was really Hydra in there, then those bastards were getting what they deserved, but Wanda and _oh God_ Peter would be buried in the rubble too.

 

He squinted at the screen desperately. There was movement as the dust settled. A stumbling form that he couldn’t make out crawling from a pocket of red magic. A few more figures limped through the destruction, crawling out from under the fallen walls like cockroaches.

 

So, there were survivors, but who were they?

 

“Sam,” Tony said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “You got a location?”

 

“I got it,” Sam said.

 

“Then suit up.”

 

\--

 

It took a couple hours to reach the ruined base, Sam’s coordinates placing it in southeastern Alaska. Flying in the suit was faster than a plane, so Tony took off, Sam and Clint following in the Quinjet. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too far behind him. None of them loved the idea of Tony flying in without immediate backup, but Tony didn’t know if they had any time to waste. With every minute that passed, Peter and Wanda were in more and more danger.

 

He could see the base now. Wanda was down there somewhere and hopefully, _hopefully_ Peter was too. In truth, they had very little reason to believe that Peter was also there. They didn’t know Hydra would take both their superhero captives to the same place. Hell, the two of them weren’t even taken at the same time.

 

But Tony had to try. He’d search every Hydra base on the planet to find Peter.

 

“FRIDAY, scan for Peter Parker,” he said as he got closer.

 

“Scanning,” FRIDAY responded. “Got him, Boss. Southside of the building.”

 

“Is he…”

 

“I picked him up on facial recognition, Boss. He is clear of the rubble.”

 

Peter’s location lit up in his view and Tony nearly cried with relief.

 

_Peter, Peter, Peter._

_I found you, kid. I got you._

 

He landed hard on the ground near Peter’s location, the thin layer of frost that coated the ground melting with the suit’s contact. Peter lay still on the ground, his head resting awkwardly on a block of concrete, an arm hanging loosely across his stomach. The suit opened and Tony stumbled forward to him.

 

“Peter.” Tony couldn’t do much more than whisper.

 

He knelt next to him shivering violently at the cold and the horror of the sight in front of him. Peter was barefoot and dressed in a white hospital gown, Hydra’s ugly logo emblazoned across his shoulder, marking him as theirs.

 

_No. He’s not theirs. They can’t have him._

Tony bit back a wave of rage at the sight, choosing instead to focus on how deadly pale Peter’s skin was, how frost was beginning to gather in his hair, how his cheeks and lips had lost nearly all of their color, how his breathing was coming in too shallow and uneven, how blood soaked into the frozen dirt beneath him. With one hand, Tony applied pressure to the wound in Peter’s stomach, the other reaching for his pulse. Although he could see the kid’s chest rising and falling as he breathed sharp, pained breaths, it was still a relief to actually feel his pulse, even as weak and erratic as it was.

 

_He's dying._

_But at least he’s still alive._

“I’ve got you, kid,” Tony said, using his free hand to briefly cup the kid’s cheek. His fingers flinched back a little at the coldness of his skin, but he decided instead to focus on the kid’s breath on his wrist and the way his eyelashes fluttered slightly at the touch—signs of life.

 

This was his kid, and _finally_ he had him.

 

Tony was zeroed in on Peter’s pale face, all of his focus on keeping the kid alive until the jet arrived and he could get him the medical attention he needed. He should have been paying more attention to what was going on around them.

 

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and barely had time to look up before a foot was colliding with his chest, sending him sprawling backwards. Before he even registered what happened, slender hands were tearing Peter’s limp form away from him.

 

Tony pushed himself to his feet and made to get back into his suit, but he froze when he heard the sound of a gun’s safety being clicked off. Slowly, with his hands raised in the air, he turned around.

 

Standing amidst the rubble was a familiar dark-haired woman in black tactical Hydra gear. Her face and clothes were streaked with dust and she was bleeding from her forehead, smearing half of her face with blood. Still, she grinned, her teeth glinting sinisterly against her disheveled appearance. With one arm, she held Peter against her chest, her grimy finger digging into the kid’s shoulder. Her other hand held a gun to his temple.

 

“Uh uh, Stark,” she admonished. “We didn’t get to finish recording everything we got from him. As a man of science, you can see why we can’t just hand him over. Our experiments aren’t don’t, and some of them need to be repeated, since the witch destroyed what we had.”

 

Peter’s eyes were open now, half-lidded and glazed as he struggled to see who was holding him. Eventually, his gaze found Tony and something in his expression brightened. His pale lips moved soundlessly and his feet scrambled beneath him, toes slipping on the ground as he tried to regain his footing. The bitch holding him simply tightened her grip, leaving Peter struggling weakly in vain.

 

He was too hurt, too weak to fight her off.

 

_That’s okay, kid. I got you. I’ll get you out of here._

 

“Let him go,” Tony growled.

 

“He needs medical attention, Stark. Look at him. Even if I don’t shoot him in the head, he’s going to die soon. Don’t worry though, we’re going to patch him up, if only so we can tear him back open again. My medical team will fix all this.”

 

She stroked Peter’s pale cheek gently with the black of her fingers, her face resembling the hungry grin of a shark, then she twisted and dug her fingers into the bloody mess of the kid’s torso. Peter, eyes squeezed shut, whimpered pitifully and curved away from her. Tony’s vision nearly whited out with rage, but the sight of her grip tightening on the gun and the look of fear—of sheer terror, begging Tony to _do something_ —on Peter’s face kept him rooted in place.

 

She simply laughed. “Oh, Petey,” she crooned and Peter winced. “My team will fix you. Stark? He doesn’t even have a team. He came all alone. Guess you weren’t important enough to rally the troops. Oh, wait.” She looked up and met Tony’s eyes. “There are no troops anymore. That’s why Petey’s _so_ important, because he’s the only one left to play soldier.”

 

Tony wanted to scream. He felt so helpless and worse, he was failing Peter. The kid had been waiting for him to come rescue him for _two goddamn weeks_ and Tony still couldn’t save him.

 

“Not exactly,” came a voice, bold and angry. Tony nearly sobbed with relief when its owner dropped out of the sky—a magnificent, beautiful, metal-winged guardian angel—and sent the woman into a heap with a well-placed kick to the head.

 

Working in perfect tandem that could only be achieved by trained agents and soldiers, Clint and Sam took down the Hydra agent and pulled Peter to safety in less than twenty seconds. While Sam knocked the shit out of the woman, Clint rolled in and pulled Peter away from her before he could fall too.

 

Clint clutched the kid to his chest and cradled his head while he watched with satisfaction as Sam drove his fist into the bitch’s face and knocked her the rest of the way out. His fingers curled protectively in Peter’s hair and he stroked his thumb lightly along the back of his head. Tony wondered briefly if he’d ever held his own kids that way.

 

Tony rushed towards Clint and Peter and was instantly relieved when he turned and relinquished his hold on the kid, offering him to Tony.

 

After hugging Peter protectively to him, he dropped to his knees, cradling his kid in his lap. He brushed his curly over-grown hair off of his forehead and watched as Peter’s watery gaze took in his face, the kid’s expression changing from fear to relief, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Mr… Stark…” he gasped.

 

“Hey, kiddo. I’m so sorry I took so long. So, so sorry, Pete.” He wanted to keep stroking Peter’s forehead. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair and hug him until his arms fell off, but Peter was still bleeding out in his lap and he had to use both hands to press on his stomach. Peter let out a sharp gasp of pain and Tony felt a wave of self-loathing wash over him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

 

“’S okay… You’re here now.”

 

In the distance, Sam and Clint were picking through the ruins and shouting for Wanda.

 

“Thanks for coming, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. His voice was slightly slurred and hard to hear and fear twisted around Tony's heart.

 

Tony dipped his forehead down to rest on his kid’s. “You’re such a good kid, Peter. You don’t deserve this.”

 

Peter’s eyes went wide suddenly, part of their haze dissipating. “Mr. Stark! Wanda—Wanda Maximoff. She’s here! You—you have to find her. She—”

 

“It’s okay, kid. Sam and Clint are on it. You know them? Falcon and Hawkeye? I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t, but—”

 

“No, Mr. Stark. She—she’s under the building. They won’t be able to help her—not like you can.”

 

“Pete, I can’t leave you. I won’t.”

 

“ _Please_ , Mr. Stark. Please, she needs your help. She needs Iron Man.”

 

“I—”

 

“You can save her.” Peter stared up at him with wide brown eyes, tears rolling down the sides of his face and falling onto Tony’s lap. “ _Please._ ”

 

Tony hesitated. “Yeah, okay, kiddo. Okay. But you have to do something for me, too.”

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t you dare fall asleep. Eyes open, Pete, okay? I need you to stay with us. Promise me.”

 

“I—I promise.”

 

“Good kid.” With a sigh, Tony lifted the kid and stood up. He was too light, too cold, too limp, but he swallowed hard and pushed away the fear and anger he felt at that. He stumbled over to Clint and shoved Peter into his arms.

 

“I’m trusting you,” Tony said to him. “Watch my kid, okay, and I’ll go get yours.”

 

Clint stared at him with wide eyes but nodded and took over keeping Peter alive. Tony was glad when he saw Clint brush a comforting hand through the kid’s hair before he turned and took off towards the jet.

 

Moments later Tony was back in his suit, taking in the data FRIDAY had gathered for him. “Wanda’s got a unique energy signature because of her magic,” Tony said. “Can we scan for it without picking up residual information from the building’s destruction?”

 

“Wanda’s energy signature can be found almost everywhere in the remains of the structure, but there is a large concentration at the southern area of the base. And, Boss, my scanners are picking up signs of life in the area.”

 

He landed where FRIDAY directed him, just a few feet from where he’d found Peter. How close had they been in this base? Did they see each other in pain? Did Wanda watch Peter get tortured?

 

If Tony had to see that kid hurting, he’d tear the building down, too.

 

“If Wanda Maximoff is here,” FRIDAY said, “she is most likely underneath this particular piece of concrete, Boss.”

 

“Right.” He called Sam over. “Get ready,” he said, and Sam nodded in response.

 

With a grunt, he bent down and lifted the concrete up, slowly and carefully. If he messed up, he could hurt Wanda more than she already was. Once he was clear, Sam ducked underneath, gathered something up in his arms, and scrambled out of the way. Tony let go of the concrete.

 

Sam fell to his knees and carefully laid Wanda Maximoff’s form out on the frozen ground. She was pale and unconscious, with blood covering half of her face, obscuring her delicate features and matting in her hair. Both of her legs and one of her arms were twisted at an unnatural angle. An ugly metal collar was secured around her neck and Tony could see raw, red skin peeking out from beneath it.

 

“She’s breathing,” Sam said. “But something’s wrong.”

 

“A lot’s wrong,” Tony said. “We need to get her medical attention. Stat. Peter too.”

 

Sam nodded. “Right. Right.” He moved and scooped Wanda up in his arms, trying not to jostle her too much. Seeing the way her head lolled and her broken body hung like dead weight made Tony sick to his stomach. She looked so broken, like she shouldn’t even be alive, and no matter what problems they’d had in the past, he’d never _ever_ want to see her like this.

 

He’d never wanted her dead, hell, he’d never even wanted her hurt. He’d just wanted some space, to no longer harbor someone who hated him, who refused his help and then blamed him when things went wrong, who’d messed with his mind and done nothing to apologize besides killing Ultron bots when her own country was threatened. And yeah, she probably wanted to do better and be better—it wasn’t her fault Steve and Natasha and Clint had let her get away with it. She didn’t deserve this. No one did.

 

Tony looked around. There were bound to be more Hydra agents lingering in the wreckage like cockroaches, but they didn’t matter right now (even though he wanted nothing more than to make them pay for hurting Peter). Peter and Wanda were more important, and no way was he going to leave Peter with Sam and Clint just so he could bust some Hydra heads, not when his kid needed him. No matter how much the thought of Hydra and what they’d done to the kid made his blood boil and his vision tunnel, Peter was more important. Peter was bigger than all of it. Tony still had to save him so he could maybe finally tell the kid what he hadn’t been able to say for so long.

 

_I love you, kid. You’re like the son I never had, and I can’t understand what I did right in order to have you in my life. You’re the best kid—the best goddamn person in this universe and I’m sorry that I’ve been too emotionally constipated and scared to say it, but I love you, Peter. I love you—and I can’t believe I was almost too late to say it._

 

“We’ll come back,” Tony said. “When they’re better. We’ll come back and finish this up and I’ll kill every last one of them.”

 

“I’ll help you. When they’re better,” Sam echoed. He nodded. “Let’s go.”

 

Back on the jet, the first thing Tony saw was that Peter had broken his promise. Clint had laid him on the table and bandaged his stomach, but all his efforts to rouse the kid were futile. In just a few minutes, Peter had grown even more pale, something Tony hadn’t thought possible. His lips were completely white now and his chest barely rose with each weak breath.

 

Clint rubbed his own brow in frustration as he tried to get the kid to talk to him. “Come on, Peter. You have to stay with us, right? You need to finish telling me what teenagers are into these days. I need to be prepared. Come on.” All he succeeded in doing was smearing Peter’s blood on his forehead. Clint was covered in red, but he was pointedly looking anywhere except down at his blood-stained clothes and hands.

 

Tony couldn’t stop looking at it. He was distantly aware of the feeling of that same blood on his own hands and clothes. It made his skin crawl.

 

The moment Sam laid Wanda down on the other table, Clint looked up, meeting Tony’s eyes. All it took was one look before Clint was rushing to her side, leaving Peter and Tony alone.

 

“Peter,” Tony said, setting a hand on his arm. He shook him a little, but the kid didn’t stir. He tried again, cupping his cheek this time, but receiving the same results. He looked lifeless. “Come on, kid,” Tony said. He hated the way his voice cracked. “You made a promise.”

 

“He’s too cold,” Clint called from Wanda’s side. “It looks like hypothermia.”

 

Tony nodded. Peter’s skin was cold and his breathing was too slow. He was part spider, and it didn’t take much for the cold to be too much for him. And the blood loss and exhaustion certainly hadn’t helped.

 

They needed real medical supplies. They needed a real doctor. Instead, Wanda and Peter got an engineer, a couple of ex-avengers, and a first aid kit in the back of a moving plane.

 

Here he was, failing Peter again. He should have brought more supplies, maybe even a med team. He’d messed up again and he continued to fail Peter.

 

_Maybe I shouldn’t tell you I love you, kid. Maybe you’d be safe if you just stayed the hell away from me. All I do is make mistakes._

He gripped the kid’s hand, fingers slipping up to keep hold of his pulse point, and listened to the heavy silence.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew this a doozy of a chapter, but there was a lot to wrap up! enjoy :)
> 
> warnings for mentions of blood, PTSD, and panic attacks

There’s cold, biting metal beneath Peter’s back. He’s used to it by now. It provides no comfort, no escape from the everlasting pain.

 

He squirms and screams and thrashes as the Hydra scientists, with their taut surgical gloves and their white lab coats stained with Peter’s blood and joyful curiosity on their faces, cut into him. They’re all around him, all of them working at once, and there’s no main source of his agony, it’s just _everywhere_.

 

There’s no pattern to it. They’re cutting into him, deeper than should be humanly possible, and in so many places that there should be nothing left of him at all.

 

That’s not right. They’re scientists. They should be studying him. There should be a purpose to their torture, to understand him, to keep him alive enough to participate in their experiments again the next day.

 

They’re unmaking him. Soon he won't be human at all. He won't be anything.

 

There’s no sense to it. No purpose. Just pain, pain, _pain_ and not enough Peter to hold it all.

 

He feels blood-soaked fabric on his back and arms. It sticks to him, makes him feel dirty and trapped.

 

Trapped. He’s still chained to the table, but he can’t feel the metal anymore. He twists, feeling white hot agony shoot through him with the movement, but he’s no stranger to it now.

 

Red. He expected red. He expected blood. He knows it’s all over him, saturating his clothes, drowning him, but he doesn’t just see red. He sees blue, too.

 

He’s wearing clothes. He wasn’t doing that before. He’d been in his boxers. That’s what Hydra made him do: strip out of the horrible hospital gown and lie cold and afraid and far too exposed on the metal table so they could tear him apart.

 

But now he was fully covered, and it was suffocating.

 

The outfit was familiar, and maybe if he managed to reach into the recesses of his pain-addled mind, he could place its origin. He should be happy not to be marked with Hydra’s terrible logo, but instead it just felt wrong, wrong, _wrong._

 

This was… his. Somehow, he knew that. It was his outfit. He… he was supposed to take pride in it. It was supposed to show he was strong.

 

It wasn’t meant to look like this.

 

He blinked hard and returned his gaze to the ceiling. He didn’t want to see what the scientists were doing. It made him sick.

 

He sucked in a breath of horror as the ceiling changed.

 

_No, no, no, nononono_

He knew that ceiling, and suddenly the outfit made sense. His homemade suit—what was once his proudest creation had become a mark of his own stupidity, leaving him to die alone and afraid where no one would find him.

 

He was no one. He was nothing. He was unmade.

 

“No!” Peter screamed. “No! Help me, please!”

 

It was going to fall. He knew it in his heart. He’d seen it happen, he’d felt the weight, the bone-crushing pain, the unbearable helplessness. If it happened again now, he would die for sure. He would die in helpless agony, trapped and so, so alone.

 

He screamed again, both in pain and in overwhelming fear.

 

When the ceiling fell, Peter wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t, and even the tears that blurred his vision didn’t keep him from watching as the world fell down, down, down.

 

And then it didn’t.

 

There was something red nearby, but not blood. It shone and it protected him and for the first time in what felt like forever, Peter felt happiness swell up in his chest.

 

“Mister… Stark…” Peter gasped. His mentor stood beside him, decked out in the Iron Man suit, holding up the ceiling.

 

“Hey, kid,” he said, looking down at Peter fondly.

 

“You came,” Peter sobbed. “I knew you would.” Mr. Stark smiled.

 

“I need to hold the building,” he said. “So it won’t fall.”

 

Peter nodded enthusiastically. _Yes._ He did not want the ceiling to fall. He did not want to die.

 

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, Mr. Stark. Thank you.”

 

“I can’t do anything else.”

 

Peter frowned up at him. Huh? He… he had to get him out of there. He had to—

 

Peter screamed as his torso erupted with pain. He didn’t want to scream in front of Mr. Stark. He wanted to be strong, so he knew there was something left worth saving, but he couldn’t help it. The scientists were back, digging into his stomach, and Mr. Stark was just watching with barely a flicker of sadness across his face.

 

“No… no… Help me, pl—” He was cut off by another one of his own gurgling screams. Tears flowed and they wouldn’t stop, just like the blood. He was going to drown, and Mr. Stark couldn’t save him. He had to hold the ceiling.

 

“I don’t even think you noticed, kid,” Mr. Stark said. His watery voice didn’t match the look of apathy on his face.

 

“Wha—”

 

“But you said it,” his mentor said. His voice broke. “And I didn’t say it back. And you probably didn’t even know you were saying it, but that doesn’t matter. Because I still want to say it, kiddo.”

 

“What do you mean? Mr. Stark—” Another unbearable wave of pain.

 

“Kid, _Peter_ , I—”

 

“Please! H-help me!” Peter screamed. “Help!”

 

He was dying. He was being unmade. He was going to die and why wasn’t Mr. Stark doing anything?

 

“Please,” he sobbed. “Please help me. Help me! Help me!”

 

Hands on his arms, hands on his shoulders, hands on face. Not gloved. Rough, calloused, warm. Gentle. Grounding.

 

“Kid? Peter? Come on, kid. It’s not real. Wake up, Pete. You’re okay.”

 

Peter blinked and Hydra was gone. The collapsing building was gone. Iron Man was gone, but Mr. Stark remained. His mentor was gripping one of his hands with such force that he might as well have been the one with super strength. His other hand cupped Peter’s cheek, gently brushing a stray tear away.

 

“You’re okay, kid,” Mr. Stark was saying. “You’re back. You’re safe.”

 

“Safe?” Peter choked. He gazed up at Mr. Stark, drinking in his features—the crinkles on his face, the weak, comforting smile he offered, the wet shine in his eyes.

 

“Safe, Pete. I promise you.”

 

Peter looked up the ceiling. It was white and bright, like Hydra, but something about the room had a much warmer glow and nothing was threatening to collapse. Mr. Stark didn’t have to hold the sky up. He could be there for Peter, like he desperately needed. There was no cold table, but a soft bed and Peter let himself sink into it, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. So long as Tony was there, he would be just fine.

 

* * *

 

 

Wanda was a mess. Peter Parker was a mess. Tony and Clint were a mess.

 

Sam wanted to be. He loved Wanda like a little sister and it was killing him to see her like this, but someone had to at least pretend to be sane in order to keep Tony and Clint from spiraling into total catastrophe.

 

Looks like that job fell to Sam. Yippee.

 

He got in contact with Steve and Nat and told them what happened.

 

“Thank God you got her,” Steve said. “She’s going to be okay, right?”

 

Sam glanced at the door to Wanda’s hospital room. She’d been pale and broken when they brought her in, a weak pulse beneath Sam’s fingers her only sign of life. Even now, intubated and hooked up to an IV and about four hours out of surgery, she still looked bad.

 

Broken legs, broken arm, broken ribs, punctured lung, the looming threat of permanent brain damage, malnutrition, burns on her neck, cardiac arrhythmia—the list of symptoms was too goddamn long.

 

But Wanda was a fighter. She always had been and she always would be. Sam had faith in her, and Tony’s medical team was doing everything they could to help her, something he was extremely grateful for, especially considering the fact that Tony also had a broken kid lying in another room.

 

“I think so, Cap,” Sam replied.

 

“Good,” Nat breathed. “Good. Thank God, Wilson. You bring her back, okay? Bring her home. And keep us updated.”

 

“Of course.” He hung up and went to sit back in Wanda’s hospital room.

 

Clint was pacing like the goddamn mess he was, so Sam shoved him rather unceremoniously into a chair. Clint dragged it loudly across the floor so he could sit right by her bedside. The careful staring was better than pacing.

 

“She’ll be okay, man,” Sam said, partially to comfort his friend, partially to remind himself. The past few weeks had been drainingly terrifying, and all he really wanted is for it to be over. He wanted Wanda awake and alive and safe and home. Was that too much to ask?

 

Of course, even when she does wake up, there will still be a number of problems. Her broken bones will have her out of commission for a decent while and the consequences of that level of electric shock are sure to be anything but pretty. Plus, even if she weren’t injured, Sam knows there’s no way someone can escape from a place like Hydra unscathed. They’re going to have to keep a close eye on her, and he knows it’ll be hard, but they’ll all do it in a heartbeat to help her get through this.

 

So he was preparing himself for the broken bones and the concussion and the breathing problems and the lingering heart problems, but he was also preparing himself to go back to his roots and help Wanda face the PTSD that’s sure to find her.

 

She was part of the team. She’d never be alone in this.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony had stayed at the kid’s side from the moment he got to the jet. He’d tried to help him fight the hypothermia, giving him blankets and heating pads and rubbing his hands up and down the kid’s arms over and over, but it was so hard not to panic when Peter’s lips were blue and his body had given up on shivering.

 

Still, Peter was strong. He’d made it to the compound alive and Tony had been determined to keep him that way.

 

That meant, when the doctor said they needed go in and fix some of the internal damage Hydra had done to Peter, and it dawned on him that they had no anesthesia strong enough for Spider-Man, Tony had swallowed bile and decided there was no way he was leaving the kid’s side for that. That meant he let Peter grip his hand with uncontrollable super strength—the only reason he didn’t break every bone in Tony’s hand was because blood loss and cold had left him weakened. (It _hurt_ , to see him that weak. It was terrifying. A part of him wished for Peter to snap his hand, because at least that would mean he hadn't come desperately close to losing him.) That meant he stayed right there while Peter drifted in and out of consciousness, screaming and begging for Tony to help him.

 

It was the worst time of Tony’s life. He’d been kidnapped and tortured and poisoned and dying and _none of it_ had compared to the sounds of Peter crying.

 

Somewhere, in another corner of the medbay, Sam and Clint sat and waited for Wanda to wake up. Her broken bones had been set, her punctured lung was well on its way to healing, her arrhythmia would hopefully be on its way to correction, and she was hooked up to wires and tubes that pumped her full of much-needed nutrients and oxygen. All that was left was to wait for her to wake up.

 

Sam and Clint had both popped in to check on Peter and Tony. Although neither of them had said a word, they’d both given Tony a look of pity, as if he were the one who’d suffered for weeks, not Peter.

 

He had yet to return the favor and go see Wanda. Although he had FRIDAY and the doctors update him on her status, he couldn’t seem to tear himself from Peter’s side.

 

Time began to drag on and the pit of guilt was growing in Tony’s heart the longer he looked at Peter’s sleeping form.

 

_I love you._

 

He should get away from the kid, to protect him from the dangers that came with knowing Tony Stark. He should, he really should, but just like he couldn’t physically leave the kid now, he’d never be able to remove himself from Peter’s life. It was horribly selfish, but he loved the kid too much. He couldn’t stand to lose him.

 

“I don’t even think you noticed, kid,” he said softly. The kid couldn’t hear him, but he had to say it. It had been consuming him for far too long.

 

Peter simply slept.

 

“But you said it,” he continued. He couldn’t stop the sob in his voice because he was still such a coward, such a horrible person that it took Peter almost dying for him to say what he meant to him, and he wasn’t even really saying it to him. “And I didn’t say it back. And you probably didn’t even know you were saying it, but that doesn’t matter. Because I still want to say it, kiddo.”

 

_I love you._

 

In his sleep, Peter whimpered slightly. His head rolled to the side.

 

“Kid, _Peter_ , I—”

 

He was cut off by the kid’s sudden movement. Eyes wide, Tony jumped from his seat and watched in horror as Peter thrashed in the bed, crying and screaming.

 

“Please! H-help me!” Peter screamed. “Help!” Each cry was like an icy stab to the chest.

 

Tony ran to him, shaking hands hovering over the kid’s arms. What if touching him made it worse? What if it just pulled him harder into his nightmare? What is Peter though he was one of the people hurting him?

 

“Please,” he sobbed. “Please help me. Help me! Help me!”

 

That was it. Tony’s heart ached and something inside him was screaming that he needed to help his kid _now._

 

Screw it. He needed comfort. Peter had always thrived on physical contact, so hoping and praying that he didn’t make it worse, Tony gripped his arms and shook his shoulders and stroked his cheeks.

 

“Kid? Peter?” He watched his face, begging for the kid to open his eyes and come back to reality. All he wanted was to see his eyes open. “Come on, kid. It’s not real. Wake up, Pete. You’re okay.”

 

With a choked gasp, Peter’s eyes flew open. His gaze flicked around the room rapidly, terror filling his features. Tony squeezed his hand tightly and set a gentle hand on the side of his face. Tears leaked down Peter’s face, but he brushed them away.

 

“You’re okay, kid,” he said. “You’re back. You’re safe.”

 

“Safe?” Peter choked.

 

“Safe, Pete. I promise you.” _Forever and ever, kid. I’m never letting anything happen to you ever again._

 

Peter nodded weakly and the icy grip on Tony’s heart loosened just slightly. His eyes drooped closed again and Tony sat beside him as his breathing slowed back down in sleep. He tipped his head forward onto the hand that gripped Peter’s and let his own mind drift off.

 

\--

 

Two days later, while May was in the shower, Tony and Peter were finally alone again.

 

They were eating an early dinner, while Peter teased Tony for choosing the time, saying he was an "old man" who needed the "early bird special," although they both knew they were eating at 4:30 because in less than an hour, Peter would be asleep again.

 

Peter was laughing at his own joke and shoveling lime jello into his mouth and a sudden wave of fondness overcame Tony.

 

"I love you, kid."

 

Peter froze, and the fondness was wiped away by nerves.  _Here it comes,_ Tony thought.  _You made it weird. He hadn't really meant it before. It was just a thing people say._

 

Then Peter grinned. "I love you too, Mr. Stark," and Tony could breathe again. 

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah. I missed you a ton."

 

"I missed you too, kiddo. So much. You scared the shit out of me."

 

"I'll try not to do it again, Mr. Stark."

 

"You'll do better than try," he said, his tone suddenly serious. "We are  _never_ doing that again, you hear me?"

 

"I don't think I can promise that, Mr. Stark. It sort of comes with the terrain."

 

"No. It does not come with the terrain. Spider-boys are no longer allowed to almost die."

 

"Alright, Mr. Stark," Peter ceded. "I won't almost die again."

 

_Damn right, you won't._

 

"I won't let anything else happen to you, kid."

 

Peter grinned.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Wanda nearly twenty-four hours post-op to wake up, and they had been some of the longest hours of Clint’s life.

 

Sam had come in at hour six and told him that Peter had woken up and Clint was happy about that. He really was. He was happy for Tony and for the poor kid; he just hoped Wanda followed suit soon. He refused to be jealous that Tony got to see his kid awake and alive while he was still waiting.

 

When her eyes finally fluttered open, Clint had jumped to his feet so quickly he’d awoken a dozing Sam, who promptly fell face-first off of the couch and onto the floor.

 

“Wanda,” he said, grabbing her good hand. “Wanda.”

 

“Clint?” she rasped. “How—”

 

“We’ve been looking for you, Wanda,” Sam interrupted, coming up behind Clint to smile at her. “We were really worried.”

 

“You really scared us for a while there,” Clint said. “But you’re gonna be fine.”

 

Wanda smiled weakly, then frowned. “Where’s… Peter?”

 

“He’s fine, too,” Clint said. “He’s already awake, sleepyhead. He asked about you.”

 

“He’s alive?” she asked.

 

Clint nodded. “Yeah, kiddo. He’s alive. You saved him.”

 

Wanda smiled and settled deeper into the pillow, her eyes falling shut again.

 

\--

 

Three days later, Clint sat on the edge of Wanda’s bed. She was fully awake and on her way to healing—Clint was damn happy to see the healthy flush returning to her cheeks and the glazed incoherency disappearing from her eyes. Sam sat in a chair next to her, updating the others on her status, while Tony looked over some notes the doctors had sent his way.

 

“When you’re ready to travel,” Clint said, “we’ll get you settled in Sam’s car. We just have to drop me back off at the farm on the way and then Sam will get you situated back with Steve and Tasha.”

 

“I’m not going with Sam, Clint,” she said. Every head in the room whipped towards her.

 

“What do you mean you’re not going with Sam?” Clint asked. He stared at her like she had started spewing slugs out of her mouth or professing her undying love for Hydra. That made about as much sense as what she’d actually said.

 

“Yeah, Wanda,” Sam agreed. “I don’t think it’s a great idea for you to go off on your own right now.” Clint nodded. He had never agreed with Sam more.

 

Wanda simply shook her head, a wan smile on her face. “I’m not going off on my own either.” Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet Stark’s eyes. “I’ve made too many mistakes in my life, and I’m tired of running from them.”

 

Tony made a strange choking noise and Clint turned to see the man’s face just as pale and surprised as his.

 

“What are you trying to say?” Clint asked.

 

Wanda turned to look at him now. “Clint, I love you. You and your family, well, I’ve always found happiness there. And Sam, you and Natasha and Steve, you will always hold such a dear place in my heart, but I’ve let all of you coddle me for far too long. I am not a child, Clint, and I have not been a child for some time. Everything I’ve done: Hydra, Ultron, Sokovia, Johannesburg, Lagos, Germany—I can’t ignore that anymore.”

 

“Wanda…”

 

“I didn’t want to be a bad person,” she continued, lifting her uninjured hand to quiet him, “so I let you tell me that I wasn’t without actually doing anything about it. I let my own personal comfort and selfish desires get in the way of thinking about what I was doing. I’m dangerous, Clint, and I’ve done some truly evil things in my past. It’s high time that I try and make reparations.”

 

“Reparations how?” Sam asked.

 

“The Accords,” Wanda said, and Clint choked on air.

 

“The—huh?”

 

“The Sokovia Accords,” she repeated calmly, as if she wasn’t spewing nonsense. “I know there’s a good chance that by staying here and acknowledging them, I will be arrested, but it is better than running. I did not think before about what the Accords meant, I just didn’t want to change. Now, I know that they are what we needed. They are what I needed and what the world needed in regard to me.”

 

“Do you really believe that?” Clint asked. “Because you don’t have to. Stark won’t tell Ross where you are, okay? He already—”

 

“I told you,” she said. “I’m done hiding.”

 

“Would you be willing to sign the Accords?” Tony asked.

 

Wanda nodded solemnly. “In a heartbeat.” The room fell silent as all three men sat there blinking, while Wanda sat calmly. “It’s what I have to do.”

 

“Then I can help you,” Tony said. “There… It’ll be hard. I’ll probably have to stretch the truth a little and tell Ross you were with Hydra a bit longer than you actually were—it’ll give you less time as a fugitive and more time as a captive—but we can make it work.”

 

“She won’t go back to the Raft?” Clint asked. He’d hated it there, and the worst part had been seeing Wanda restrained and collared like a dog. It was incredibly telling that Hydra had treated her the same way.

 

“No,” Tony said and suddenly Clint felt like he could breathe again. “I won’t let that happen.”

 

Wanda blinked. “You won’t?” Great, so she’d just planned on letting herself go back into captivity. What was this? Some sort of masochist, self-sacrificing bullshit?

 

Tony shook his head. “No. All I ever wanted to do was work with you. I thought for sure you of all people would appreciate some accountability, and I’m happy to hear that you finally realize that.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, hanging her head. “For everything. I’m so sorry, Tony.”

 

Had Wanda ever called him Tony? He was pretty sure she hadn’t. Until now, she’d just adopted Clint’s (and possibly, horrifyingly, Ultron’s) habit of calling him _Stark._ He felt shock, and a degree of loss for the young woman he once knew, but he also felt pride, because all on her own, Wanda had realized something about Tony that Clint hadn’t been able to: that he cared about her, that he just wanted to help, in his own secretive, emotionally constipated, Tonyish way.

 

He was damn proud of her. Not that he had any right to be, since she’d clearly stated that all he’d done was coddle her and make it harder for her to get here, but hey, he couldn’t help how he felt.

 

\--

 

Their farewell was a bit teary, with sniffles and red-tinted watery eyes, but she gave him a hug and promised to write when she could. Tony wasn’t sure how often she’d be allowed to contact a former Avenger without it looking suspicious.

 

Sam offered her a comforting hand on the shoulder and a slightly-weird fist bump, but she’d pulled him down into a hug of his own. It would be a long while before she got to see him, Steve, or Nat again.

 

“I don’t suppose you’d want to stay, too?” Tony asked him. “Maybe get the rest of your travelling circus to come back as well?”

 

Sam shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tony. I can’t do that. I wish I could, but I can’t sign something I don’t believe in.”

 

Tony nodded like he expected it. “Keep your eyes in the papers, okay? The Accords aren’t finalized. I’m still fighting for some adjustments. If they’re ever to your liking—”

 

“We’ll be back, Tony,” Sam promised. “I wish things were different.”

 

“Me too,” Tony said. “I’m not sure I understand, but, well, I understand. Stay safe, Wilson.”

 

“You too, Tony. Remember, we’re just a call away if you need us.”

 

“I would say the same,” Tony said, “but I’m not really sure who answers my phone these days.”

 

Sam laughed and with a quick handshake and one last hug with Wanda, the Falcon was off.

 

Clint wanted to linger just a bit longer—he wasn’t ready to leave Wanda yet, not after everything she’d been through—but Sam was his ride, and he needed to get home before FBI agents came knocking on his door for some surprise inspection or something.

 

His family wouldn’t be quite complete without Wanda, but for the first time, he felt a bit more at ease, knowing she was safe.

 

“Take good care of her, Tony,” Clint said, shaking his hand as well. There seemed to be a ghost of a smile on the other man’s face as he nodded.

 

“Have a safe trip, Barton. Say hi to Laura for me?”

 

“Sure. What about the kids?”

 

Tony feigned a shudder. “The tiny agents, you mean? I suppose. I’m not the biggest kid person, but I suppose you could give them my regards.”

 

Clint thought briefly of the teenager sleeping in another room and how Tony had been in there with him and his aunt more often than not this past week. _Not the biggest kid person, my ass._

 

“I’ll see you, Tony,” he said. “Bye, Wanda.”

 

“Goodbye, Clint.”

 

* * *

 

 

With Clint gone, and Wanda finally cleared to leave the medbay, everything became incredibly empty.

 

Not that she really minded—the compound was sprawling, and with its only major residents being herself and Tony (and Pepper when she wasn’t out on business), there was no shortage of space. It was a welcome change from the cell she’d spent months in.

 

Still, it was hard.

 

Every day she struggled to remember that she was safe, even though she was alone, her heart aching for her lost team, for the bond she shared with Clint and her friendship with Nat and Sam and Steve. She struggled to go about her day, tethered to a wheelchair until her legs healed, waiting out the dizzy spells that plagued her every now and then.

 

And she struggled to face Tony.

 

When he saw her, he acted like all was forgiven, but she didn’t feel like there was any way that could possibly be true. He was a good man, and she’d done terrible things. And Peter was proof that someone could be young and powerful and still be a real hero—if Wanda could see that, then Tony certainly could, too. So he should be able to see how much of a monster she was.

 

Yet he was helping her.

 

She’d been shocked to learn that he’d been working on amending the Accords ever since their original indoctrination, but she probably shouldn’t have been. She should have listened before, shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. He’d always wanted to keep her as a part of the team. He’d never wanted her locked up. He’d only wanted accountability, maybe because before the only consequences the Avengers dealt with were accusations and insults hurled Tony’s way, by civilians, by the government, and, most horribly, by his own team.

 

She’d signed the Accords, and Tony had negotiated on her behalf, getting her placed on house arrest for the time being. Tony was responsible for her actions and nearly everything that went on within the compound’s walls was reported to Ross.

 

But there was no collar, no straightjacket, not even anyone looking at her like she was less than human. And what’s more, there was someone asking for her opinions. Tony wasn’t taking it upon himself to be the sole decider of her rights. She was always involved in the discussion, so long as she understood that it always came back to accountability.

 

It was ridiculous, really, that she was just now realizing that this is what she’d been craving all along. After Lagos, she’d felt so guilty that it had physically hurt. She’d just wanted that feeling to go away, so she let Steve and Clint tell her that she shouldn’t feel that way. It wasn’t a solution. The Accords were what she’d needed all along, so her guilt could be acknowledged, so she could actually _do something_ about it, instead of just ignoring it.

 

Guilt was important for someone with her abilities. She couldn’t be merciless. She couldn’t be limitless.

 

“Thank you,” she said to Tony.

 

They’d been in the kitchen, eating breakfast after an early-morning meeting. He had coffee and was scrolling through something on his phone, she was eating cereal. Neither of them had spoken until she broke the hazy, not uncomfortable silence.

 

He looked up at her, stunned. It was the first time she’d ever thanked him. That thought made her ache with self-loathing.

 

“You’re welcome,” he replied, the look on his face telling her that the standard response was the only thing he could think of saying.

 

She made it a point to thank him more often, until eventually his responses came naturally.

 

\--

 

It was 1:00 in the morning when Wanda woke up to the sound of bare feet on tile and bustling, noisy thoughts.

 

She sat up groggily in bed and listened as the steps stopped and shallow breathing filled the air.

 

“Peter?” she called into the darkness. A single glowing hand illuminated the room.

 

Peter stood outside of her doorway, eyes wide. Hastily, he backed up.

 

“Wait, come back! Please.”

 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I was just walking. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” she said. “Why are you awake?”

 

“Just…” He shifted nervously. “Bad dream.” His voice was soft and embarrassed, and Wanda felt something soften in her chest. She could relate.

 

“Come here,” she said, patting the comforter next to her. Hesitantly, Peter obliged.

 

He sat perched on the edge of the bed nervously, staring at his fidgeting hands.

 

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

 

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

 

“Are you sure? It might help to talk about it.”

 

He let out a humorless laugh. “You don’t need me to tell you about it. You were there.”

 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” she whispered. “But you’re safe now. Perhaps you should go see Tony. He may be able to help you better than me. I’m sure it doesn’t help to see my face.”

 

Peter shook his head again. “No… No, I’m okay.” He took a deep breath. “I’m okay. And seeing you, recovering, reminds me that I get to get better, too.”

 

Warmth filled Wanda’s stomach and her fingers itched to give the kid a tight hug, but it probably wasn’t what he needed at the moment.

 

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he said finally. “If-if you don’t mind me asking, why was your door open?”

 

Now it was Wanda’s turn to avoid his gaze. “I…” She didn’t want to seem weak. He’d _just_ talked about how seeing her being strong was helping him. He couldn’t contradict that. If Peter knew how much she was struggling, would he still feel safe?

 

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can tell me. I won’t think any different of you, Wanda. You saved my life.”

 

“I… I _can’t_ shut the door. I can’t do it, Peter.” Her breaths were speeding up until it was hard to know when one ended and the next one began. Peter reached out and squeezed her hand. “It’s too much like… like…”

 

“Like a cell?” Peter offered softly.

 

She nodded, eyes squeezed shut. Peter gripped her hand tighter.

 

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe here. This isn’t a cell. This isn’t Hydra. You’re okay. I’m okay. You’re safe and free.” He kept repeating comforting words and rhythmically squeezing her hand until her breathing slowed back down to normal speeds.

 

“Do you…” Peter chewed his lip nervously. “Do you want me to stay?”

 

“You don’t have to do that, Peter. I’ll be okay.”

 

He shrugged. “I don’t love being alone either. Every time they dragged me away… Tha-that’s when the bad stuff happened.”

 

Now it was her turn to squeeze his hand, watching sadly as he hunched over as if to curl in on himself. The image of Peter, bleeding and crying and curled up in a ball to hold himself together was burned painfully into her mind. She should have gotten him out of there sooner, and she would have, if she hadn’t been so afraid herself.

 

She tugged him closer, a hand on his shoulder pulling him up and away from himself. He leaned over sleepily until his shoulder rested against hers.

 

“Let’s get some sleep, Peter,” she whispered. He nodded against her, and the two of them laid back against the pillows.

 

Heads touching, but otherwise on separate sides of the bed, Peter fell asleep first, then Wanda as the sounds of his slow breathing lulled her away.

 

\--

 

Peter clung to Tony and his aunt for support as he recovered from his two weeks in Hydra captivity. Wanda had nothing to lean on.

 

At least, she didn’t until Peter realized just that. Once they helped each other through that one night of nightmares and terrible thoughts, they fell into a pattern of talking and comfort.

 

She knew Tony was still Peter’s primary source of consolation when nightmares and insomnia plagued him, but some things he didn’t open up to his mentor about. He said he couldn’t. Wanda knew the feeling.

 

He compromised by talking to her. She’d been there in the moment, after all. He could spare her the details because she already knew them. And in return, Wanda would tell him about the months she’d been in captivity before he’d arrived.

 

They weren’t deep conversations by any means, just passing comments, and the other would nod in understanding and provide the necessary comfort. When Wanda made reference to loneliness or starvation or restraint, Peter was her sounding board. When Peter mentioned scrutinization or not feeling human or echoes of pain, Wanda was his.

 

It worked for a while.

 

Peter, she realized too late, had super senses. He also ate enough to rival a small army. If he were hungry enough, he could smell food a mile away.

 

He was at the compound for training (which usually consisted of 30% actual training followed by 70% Tony and Peter goofing off or working an insane number of hours in the lab), and a happily tired, freshly-showered Peter had come to Wanda’s room to invite her to watch a movie.

 

He rapped lightly on her open doorframe before she welcomed him in, setting down her book.

 

“Hey, Wanda, Mr. Stark and I are—” He stopped, sniffing loudly. “What is that?”

 

“What is what?”

 

He continued into her room, sniffing with his nose tucked down like a bloodhound, and Wanda began to grow nervous, especially as each step carried him closer and closer to her nightstand.

 

Peter frowned, fingers twitching towards the drawer handle, but he didn’t open it. He was too polite to go rifling through her things like that.

 

“Peanut butter,” he said.

 

“I don’t know why—”

 

“And,” he sniffed again, “crackers. Those fiber bars Mr. Stark uses as an excuse to not leave his lab for dinner.” He turned to look at her with his eyebrows furrowed in concern and she broke. She couldn’t deny him answers when he looked at her like that. Peter had so much on his shoulders already, she couldn’t be another source of his stress.

 

“It’s… I can’t… I can’t stop.” Peter pulled open the drawer and Wanda refused to look at him, choosing instead to keep explaining herself. “I don’t even mean to do it, but I do. And I can’t sleep unless—”

 

“You’re hoarding food?” he asked. “Wanda…”

 

“I know,” she said. “I know I don’t need to. But I can’t stop thinking that I have to wait for Hydra to bring me food. I need to store it and, and keep it with me, or else—or else it’s all I can think about. It gives me something I can control.”

 

“But it’s not healthy,” he said. Then, more gently, “You can eat whenever you want here, Wanda. And isn’t it better to know you can leave and get food from the kitchen whenever instead of having to hide and stockpile it? It’s not helping you to hoard food. You’re turning your own room into a cell when it should be a safe haven.”

 

“But when I have food hidden, where I know it won’t get taken away, I _feel_ safer.”

 

He shook his head. “It’s like you're trying to rebel against Hydra, but you should focus on remembering that Hydra doesn’t control you at all. You should be focusing on being free, not on trying to make the feeling of captivity bearable.”

 

“I don’t know if I can do that, Peter,” she whispered.

 

“You can,” he said. “You just need help.”

 

“You help me so much, Peter—”

 

“You need more help,” he said. “I’m happy to be there for you, Wanda, but I’m not here all the time. And frankly, I’m struggling, too. I think you should talk to Mr. Stark.”

 

Her eyes went wide. “I cannot do that. He’s already doing so much for me. I can’t ask for anything else.”

 

Peter chuckled lightly. “He really hates when people think like that. He yells at me every time.”

 

“That’s _you_ ,” she argued. “He loves you. You are practically his son. I’m a villain who’s trying to make amends. He has no reason to help.”

 

“Mr. Stark is the poster child for growth and change,” Peter countered. “Seeing you so serious about being better, it makes him really happy. Proud, even. I can tell. But you can’t make total progress if you’re still struggling like this. He’d want to help.”

 

“I don’t—”

 

“Talk to him,” he repeated. “Or I will.”

 

She’d never seen his resolve so steely, so she nodded. He relaxed a little and gave her a small smile.

 

“Thank you, Wanda. Your health is important, to both of us.”

 

Peter, like always, turns out to be right, the little genius, and with Tony’s recommended therapist and his and Peter’s support, she gets better, slowly but surely.

 

\--

 

It’s not just her. She sees the trauma in Peter, even without peering into his loud mind. She sees it in the way he rarely sleeps through the night, in the way loud noises send him staring in fear at a ceiling that just might collapse, in the way he avoids tight spaces and hates the sight of his own blood, in the way he skits nervously around the workout equipment in the gym and the examination tables in the infirmary.

 

Wanda’s training is government mandated. She’s required to work with Tony on controlling her abilities so he can report back to Ross with her progress. The goal is to eventually be in full control of her powers and be reinstated as an Avenger. It would also mark the end of her complete house arrest.

 

Tony likes killing two birds with one stone, and Peter’s always eager to learn, so he invites the kid to train with them. It’s a good idea on paper—Peter needs to be in full control of his strength just like Wanda.

 

But in order to be able to reel back, he first has to know his limits. How much can Peter really and truly lift? How fast can he run? For how long? Can he break cement? Steel? Vibranium?

 

Tony’s already done force readings on Wanda’s magic. He’s struggling a bit, to apply his comfortable science to something so abnormal as Wanda’s powers, but he’s trying. And he’s helping. Slowly, she’s gaining more and more control, although it’s probably more the support that’s helping as opposed to the meaningless list of numbers he reads out at the end of each session.

 

But when Peter’s turn came, everything went wrong.

 

Wanda didn’t know what Hydra did when the dragged Peter out of his cell. That second week, when he came back bloody and crying, she could take a guess, but the first week had left him exhausted and unconscious. His dreams were nothing but chaos that she couldn’t make heads or tails of.

 

She should have known. She should have figured it out. She should have warned Tony.

 

They hadn’t even made it through one test when the panic attack hit. One second Tony was checking calibrations, the next he was rushing to Peter’s side as the kid stumbled back, shaking and breathing too-fast empty breaths.

 

It took several minutes of Tony and Wanda sitting on either side of Peter against the wall, not touching him but speaking comforting words before he made it through. The poor kid was exhausted, and he tipped his head over to rest on Tony’s shoulder, breaking the anxiety-induced no-contact rule. Immediately, Wanda grabbed his outstretched hand and Tony put and arm around his shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, his voice hoarse from crying. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

 

“Quit apologizing, kid,” Tony said. “Not your fault.”

 

Peter sniffed and nodded weakly.

 

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” Wanda asked.

 

Peter bit his lip and seemed to think about it but made no move to open up.

 

“We need to know what’s going on in that head of yours, Pete,” Tony said. “So we can help.”

 

“Your health is important,” Wanda added, echoing his earlier words of concern.

 

“Hydra,” Peter rasped. “I… I was going to do the—do the test, and then s-suddenly I was back there.”

 

“What brought that on?” Tony asked.

 

“They—they made me do tests t-too.”

 

Tony’s eyes went wide, and Wanda could instantly feel guilt rolling off of him.

 

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” he whispered.

 

“’S not your fault, Mr. Stark,” Peter replied. “You didn’t know.”

 

“But I should have guessed. I should have been more careful. I’m sorry. We don’t have to do the tests, okay? I’d never make you do anything that made you uncomfortable, Pete.”

 

“Thank you,” Peter said softly. “I—I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

 

Tony glanced over at Wanda. “Maybe you should talk to someone, too, Pete.”

 

“Therapy has helped me,” Wanda agreed. “It would do you some good, too.”

 

“There’s no shame in it, Pete.”

 

Peter buried his face into Tony’s shoulder, but after a few moments, he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

 

As if on cue, both Wanda and Tony squeezed a little tighter.

 

\--

 

Peter, Tony, May (who Wanda had found herself growing closer and closer to; she was a delightful woman who’s motherly words never failed to ease Wanda’s troubled mind into contentment), and Wanda were settled around the coffee table, laughing and happy and bright. Everything was warm, from the plush blanket around her shoulders to Tony’s teasing grin to Peter’s bubbly laugh.

 

It was game night, just like it was every other Saturday. A marathon of board and card games from 5:00 until they passed out in the living room together, with only a short pause to send Peter to collect their dinner delivery while May peeked at his cards and made Tony bargain to try and get information from her, and then all four of them would pig out while they played, and Wanda would tell Peter that Tony and his aunt had cheated when he started getting all pouty.

 

They were driving on into the evening, Peter still playing even as he laid on the couch, cheek pressed into the leather.

 

The game was something called _Pretty, Pretty Princess_ —May had brought it, and although it was clearly meant for small children, there was something wonderfully fun about enjoying such a mindless activity together. It involved spinning a spinner and collecting pieces of jewelry until you won by being the first to have a complete set and earn the tiara. May was winning, purple plastic baubles hanging around her neck, wrist, finger, and one ear. She only needed one more earring to win. Tony was teasing Peter since he was losing. Tony had pink earrings dangling off of both ears and a pink ring on his pinky finger, while Peter pouted, stuck with the cursed black ring.

 

Wanda spun and grabbed for the green in the center pile. When she pulled it out, her smile faltered just slightly. A necklace.

 

She held it with shaky hands, tugging at the plastic clasp without actually opening it.

 

The scars on her neck had long-since faded, but even high-necked shirts left her choked and panicked. Her necklace, the one Pietro had given her years ago—the last thing she had left of him—had sat abandoned on her dresser for months. She tried, nearly every day, to wear it, but having something around her neck, even something she associated with love and comfort, was agonizing.

 

Peter must have seen her fear, because he took the necklace out of her hands at laid it atop her hair, like a crown.

 

“It looks cooler like that,” he said. “Like you’re a real princess.”

 

“She doesn’t get to be a princess yet,” Tony protested. “She needs all the jewelry—”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” May said, “because I’m going to crush you anyways! Wanda can be my second-in-command once I get the real crown.”

 

“In your dreams, May,” Tony said. “If anyone’s going to be the one true princess here, it’s gonna be me. Peter can stay, but the rest of you will be promptly banished.”

 

“Oh yeah?” May said. “Then why did I just win?” Laughing as Tony sputtered and pouted, May held up the crown triumphantly.

 

“I like the black ring,” Peter said, inspecting his hand. “I think it’s cool.”

 

“Uh huh,” Tony said. “Whatever makes it easier to lose.”

 

“You lost too!”

 

“Not as much as you!”

 

Peter shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, because Wanda gets to pick next, and I washed her dishes for the past two weeks to get her to choose _Uno_ , since I’ve been banned from picking it.”

 

Tony looked at Wanda with comically wide eyes. “You’re not seriously thinking about picking _Uno_ , are you?”

 

Wanda held up the pack sheepishly. “Sorry, Tony. I promised.”

 

He squawked. “ _Uno_ is friendship ending! Wanda, you’re going to tear this group apart!”

 

For a brief moment, she was reminded of Germany and their so-called civil war. She’d helped tear them apart then—unthinking and uncaring—and the familiar sense of guilt rolled through her.

 

But now, Peter was already up and dealing, having happily plucked the deck from her hand and set about blatantly ignoring Tony’s protests.

 

“Switch spots with me, May,” Peter said. “I want to sit next to Mr. Stark.”

 

“No, no, no. You just want to make me Draw Four.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter laughed. “It’s really funny. Your face gets all red and your eyebrows get all twitchy. It’s great!”

 

“You little shit,” Tony grumbled, even as he tugged Peter onto the floor next to him, hugging him to his side with one arm.

 

And when Wanda was eventually the one to make Tony draw four, after skipping him twice, there was nothing but friendly banter. Peter cackled and Tony shoved him playfully to the ground before rounding on Wanda with empty threats of throwing out her favorite ice cream and Wanda found herself simply laughing along.

 

These days, the compound was warm and bright, and unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

 

For once, she felt like she was doing something right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for all the wonderful comments and kudos! <3
> 
> If you have any fic requests, feel free to leave them in the comments and I'm happy to gift them to you on here if you want! It can be fluff, angst, whump--whatever--as long as it includes Peter! I love Iron Dad, and that's probably what I'm most comfortable writing, but other characters are also great!


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